Holiday Seasonings
by Lucinda
Summary: Ficlets written for Twisting's winter Fic-For-All. Each chapter is a seperate ficlet, characters and crossovers vary a lot. Presented in no particular order.
1. Darla and Methos

Author: Lucinda

rating: pg/pg13

main characters: Darla, Methos(not using that name though)

disclaimer: they aren't mine, sadly.

distribution: Twisting, Paula, Cat, Mental Wanderings - anyone else ask first.

notes: TtH FfA pairing #76 - Darla/Methos, set before Angelus.

Darla glared at the building, her hands clenched into fists. The man inside was just so… Last week, at the party, she'd practically had to pry his hands away and his invitations to come visit him and get better acquainted, and tonight? He looks down his nose at her, call her a whore, and has the door shut and barred. She was really regretting being unable to go inside and kill him now.

She turned her back and walked away, her mind contemplating all the horrible things that she could do to him later. She'd just have to find another meal for tonight. Either someone who'd be more welcoming, or someone to make suffer. A cold drizzle began, the droplets stinging as they landed.

"You look in need of a lift, the weather is dreadful." The voice had the accent of someone who's traveled so much that it was no longer possible to tell where he'd come from. Better still, it came from inside a carriage.

"Thank you." She smiled, accepting the warm hand into the carriage. Maybe finding someone wouldn't be so hard after all…

"Your hand feels frozen, perhaps you have need of a warm cloak?" He offered, his dark eyes searching for information. Not the look of someone already picturing her naked, but the look of someone who considered her a possible threat.

"Mmmm." Sliding next to him, she wrapped the edge of his cloak around her, gazing up through her lashes at him. He wasn't bad to look at either. "You certainly feel warm enough."

"A side effect of being a bit overly emotional, I must confess." His face suggested that it was a small but bearable burden, but his eyes spoke differently. His eyes were blandly closed, revealing nothing.

There was idle chatter through the ride, names asked and exchanged, though she knew that the one he was using wasn't the one he'd been given. Talk of the weather, and how much snow might be expected, about holiday carols, and the recent orchestra performance. All the while, what had been a cold breeze picked up force, becoming a smidgen short of a gale, and cold enough to numb in a heartbeat.

"Darla?" His voice was low, full of contemplation. "Perhaps this is a bit forward, but would you like to come inside for a while? The wind would be a far crueler fate than I have any reason to wish on you."

The carriage rocked from the wind, and Darla shivered. The cold might not kill her, but it would be terribly unpleasant. "I'd be delighted."

"And warmer." He quipped, and they dashed for the door. "Come in, come in, it's freezing outside."

She was grateful that he'd said it, hitting the barrier of the home would have been embarrassing and awkward. They left the cloaks hanging near the door, and walked into a large room, soon huddled near a fireplace, watching the flames crackle as their bodies warmed. Other than the fire, she didn't hear anything. "You live here alone?"

"Yes." He sighed, and a soft whisper emerged, to faint for mortal ears. "It's too hard to find someone both capable and trustworthy."

For a while, they sat in quiet, and then Darla realized that he seemed to be staring at her feet. Following his gaze, she realized that rather than her feet, he was looking at the puddle beside her feet. Reflections of the fire danced beside her. Oh drat…

"Somehow, I doubt the weather is any more enjoyable for vampires than those of us with heartbeats." His soft words held no rancor, and no fear.

"Not really." She agreed. "Now what?"

"Now, I don't embarrass us both by asking if you'd like mulled wine." He smiled, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"I could think of a few other ways that we could warm up…" Her smile was pure temptation, and she glanced at the soft couch. "But no, I'll pass on the wine."

"It's going to be a very long, very cold winter night, perhaps we could discuss some of those idea?" He replied.

There really wasn't much need for discussion, and they both felt quite warm by the time morning came, when they moved to his room, a place conveniently lacking in window that an attacker or sunshine could enter.

End the Weather Outside is Frightful.


	2. Buffy Summers and Kraven

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Buffy Summers, Kraven (underworld)

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 380. Either AU in that Kraven must have got away at the end of the movie, or this is before Underworld takes place - reader's choice.

Cool fingers massaged the back of her neck, and Buffy let herself relax in front of the fireplace. A glass of wine was in one hand, and she wore a silk nightgown, having changed out of her patrol wear already.

"You're so tense, my sweet." Her lover's voice was like cool wine, flowing and intoxicating. "Were the demons that difficult, or were they merely frustrating?"

"Frustrating and evil." Buffy leaned into his touch, enjoying each little caress.

"And you always fight the forces of evil." There was a trace of amusement in his voice.

"That's what Slayers do." Buffy closed her eyes, savoring the way he could work out each knot of muscle, the way he knew just when to turn the motions from serious massage to a seductive caress.

"Perhaps I can help remove some of those frustrations?" He purred in her ear.

Buffy twisted around to face him, eyes roaming over his lean, well dressed body. Sure, Kraven was a vampire, but he didn't kill people. He didn't even feed on humans, but on some sort of fake blood made in a factory. He was a historian, he'd said. "You're overdressed for that."

"I'm sure you can help with that, can't you?" He smirked, fingers trailing over one collar bone.

"Maybe..." She teased, fingers circling the top button of his shirt. He wasn't afraid of her strength, of the demons that she fought. He didn't have any curses, gypsy or otherwise - she'd asked. There was nothing wrong with this relationship. Buffy was sure of that.

Leaning forward, he nipped lightly at her neck, hands sliding under the nightgown. "You're full of naughty tricks."

Giggling, Buffy ripped his shirt open, no longer in the mood for teasing and delaying. He'd be gone before the sun rose anyhow, chased away by the rising sun and her thin curtains. But he'd come back again, another night, and they could start it all over again.

"Can I persuade you to stay until the stroke of midnight?" She asked, her fingers gliding over his taut stomach.

"I think I can help you bring in the New Year."

"Good." She kissed him, trying to drown out the rest of the world, just for a little while.

end New Year's Kiss.


	3. Janna Kalderash and Sirius Black

author: Lucinda

rating: pg 13

pairing: Janna/Sirius

disclaimer: say it with me - Jenny(Janna) was created by Joss, Sirius by JK Rowling.

distribution: Cauldron Chronicles, OADNT, Twisting, Mental Wanderings - otherwise ask first.

notes: AU, TtH FfA pairing #199: Jenny Calendar (Janna Kalderash)/ Sirius Black

Snuggling closer to her lover, Janna smiled. The wind howled outside, snow blanketed everything for miles, and they were trapped here, inside this cozy little cabin. But there was a warm fire, a soft bed, spiced mulled wine, and her lover just as 'trapped' as she was.

"You sound content." His hands were playing with her hair.

"I am." Twisting around, she kissed his chest. "Here we are, all alone together, and nobody would ever think to look for us here. You're all mine, Sirius."

Letting her push him to the carpet, he smirked at her. "Should I ask what you plan to do to me, or just enjoy finding out?"

"I'm going to make sure that you're very glad I persuaded you to stay in Romania with me." She whispered.

"Even if your family wanted you to go fulfill some duty overseas?" His words tickled against bare skin.

"They found someone else to go." She looked at him, eyes sparkling with mischief and lust. "You're still thinking, Sirius."

"Make me stop then?" He challenged.

"Gladly." Janna followed her words with a kiss. "You know, there's an old belief that the New Year needs to be born before the old one can end... Help me out with that?"

Sirius just grinned. "You've just reminded me why I love your wild pagan ways."

After that, there were no more words for a long time.

end Welcoming the New Year.


	4. Riley Finn and Yzma: an Old Groove

author: Lucinda

rating: pg? pg 13?

main characters: Riley Finn, Yzma

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 1024.

It had sounded so simple and straightforward on paper. Go talk to the tribal chieftain's advisor, and she would explain about the demon menace. The only snag should have been figuring out how to kill whatever demons were causing the problems. He'd figured that between his training and Sunnydale, he should have been ready for anything.

Not for Yzma.

The woman was ancient. She looked old enough to remember when this area had been a minor city of the vast Incan empire. It didn't help that her near skeletal body was draped in a soft, clinging fabric, and that her skull like head was adorned with a feathered crown. No human could possibly be that old, and she scared him more than everything else in his entire life.

"You must understand, Captain Finn, the people of this village simply are not prepared to handle this sort of problem. She gestured with her long bony fingers, smiling at him in an expression that should have been charming. "They understand the local wildlife, and the tribal warfare well enough, but this is a more complicated matter."

"Spinach puffs?" The large, muscular man had been introduced as her assistant, and Riley had already forgotten his name.

Waving away the proffered morsels, Riley looked again at Yzma. "What makes these demons such a problem?"

"It's such a simple matter, really." She glanced outside, scowling at a group of farmers loading their goods onto fluffy llamas. "The mountains have become home to... well, demon-llamas. It's such an unfortunate occurrence."

"Demon llamas?" Riley repeated, feeling baffled. "I've heard of demon snakes, and crocodiles, and humanoid demons, but... demon llamas?"

"Embarrassing, isn't it?" For some reason, she was glaring at her assistant. "Surely, you and your soldiers can find and kill a pair of demon llamas, can't you?"

"Of course, ma'am." Riley stood up; tossing something that could pass for a salute, and retreated. Demon llamas. He could already imagine how this would look in his report.

end An Old Groove.


	5. the Master and Cruella DeVille

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Cruella, the Master

disclaimer: I don't own them.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings

notes: set before BtVS season 1, before the 101 Dalmations movie, and slightly AU for that. TtH FfA pairing #698.

Cruella sniffed disdainfully as she stepped onto the flat, cheap carpeting of the airport. Collecting the pair of trunks that she'd brought with her, she strode confidently out to where a rental car was supposed to be waiting for her. So undignified, the whole mess. All she wanted to do was visit her father for the holidays, and there was this... hassle.

Naturally, it would be worse when she ran into the incompetent vampire minions. Really, they were only good for simple errands and alternate targets, and there was bound to be one of them too stupid to realize that she wasn't simply a meal. And the resulting death of the minions would probably get blood on her coat, and the last time she'd been to visit her father, there hadn't been a decent dry cleaner any closer than LA.

The hotel room that she'd reserved was barely adequate, but it would have to do. She deposited the trunks, opening one to pull out her holiday gift for her father. It had been quite difficult to make a proper scrying mirror, but it would be worth the effort. She'd even had it gift-wrapped in paper the exact shade of fresh blood - she'd checked to make certain. Locking the hotel room behind her, she headed for the cemetery, knowing that the most convenient entrance tot he tunnel and cave system was in the Lanover crypt.

"Go pester someone else, twit." She could hear the minion clumsily following her. "I have better things to do than deal with the likes of you."

For a moment, there was quiet, and she entertained the faint hope that the minion had left. But no, he growled, and grabbed at her arm, spinning her around to face him. "You're dinner!"

"Hardly." Fortunately, he'd grabbed the arm holding the mirror, leaving her other hand free. She struck, her nails tearing out his throat.

She'd even managed to strike deep and swift enough that her coat didn't get splattered.

Shrugging her coat back into place, she continued into the tunnels, pausing a few times to remember the correct turnings. If not for that blasted spell going wrong, Father could have visited her at the DeVille manor, and then she wouldn't have had to deal with idiot minions at all.

Finally, she came to the large cavern, noting that a large cross had been added since her last visit. Staring at it was a familiar figure, his bald head glimmering in the candlelight, and his body enveloped and buckled into black leather. Sensing her presence, he turned, pale face crinkling into a smile at the sight of her. "Cruella! Such a delight to see you again, my dear."

"I wanted to visit my family for the holidays." She moved closer, skin quivering as she passed through the barrier that trapped him in this room, over the Hellmouth. "Although my home is in a bit better shape."

He hugged her, strong arms holding her close. "A new coat? Really, my dear, don't you have enough of those yet?"

"But I live for fur. It's my one indulgence in this wretched world." Holding out the mirror, she murmured, "Merry Christmas, father."

His clawed hands ran over the paper, and he smiled before tearing it away. Frowning, he looked at the mirror. "Cruella, dear, you know I don't reflect."

"It's magic, father. The sort that the Queen had. And I must say that it was quite frustrating to bind a proper spirit into it to tell you things."

With a smirk, he held the mirror up, facing the surface, the candlelight highlighting the flecks of blood at the edges. "Mirror, mirror in my hand, who's the most dangerous in the land?"

A pale blue face blurred into view, and a hollow voice intoned "You are the most dangerous within the land, oh, dread master."

Smiling, he turned again to his daughter. "It's wonderful, my dear."

Cruella only smiled. It was good to know that she could still find the perfect gifts.

end DeVilles.


	6. Anya & Al Bester: a Telepath's Wish

author: Lucinda

rating: pg

main characters: Anyanka, Al Bester

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine. Bester is from the Babylon 5 series.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 964. Set just after the discovery that Psi-corps was sending low-level telepaths to the Shadows.

How could they do this? How could they betray their own people like that? The questions kept spinning in his mind, along with a tide of rage. Al Bester sat in the small guest room that he had on the station, and glared at the wall.

The Corps was mother, the Corps was father. That was one of the first things a telepath learned, especially those, like himself, who were born and raised among telepaths. But what sort of parent would do such a thing to their children? What sort of callous heart could send the telepaths away to be enslaved by those shadow-spiders? He might have been able to follow the reasoning if they'd been sending away the untalented, very few of those were of much use anyhow, but to condemn telepaths like that? It was unthinkable to him, and should have been unthinkable to any of the telepaths.

Except that clearly, it was quite thinkable to someone.

What made it even worse, he didn't know of anybody that could help. Maybe some of the people on the station would want to help. Probably more to oppose those shadow-spiders than to help the telepaths, but what could they do against PsiCorps? They were just a handful of ungifted administrators with a scattering of alien maybe-allies.

Opening a bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a glass. It burned, and he resisted the urge to cough. Maybe the burning in his throat would distract him from the rage? Or at least give him something to focus on instead. Or maybe not.

"Could you pour me a cup of that?" The woman's voice was completely unexpected.

She sat down on the other end of the couch, her clothing looking oddly casual. Her brownish-blond hair brushed her shoulders, and she wore no gloves or badges of any sort, let alone of station security, who should have been the only other people to be able to gain access to his room.

"Who are you?"

"Call me Anya." The woman shrugged, and looked at a ring on her left hand, with a small diamond. "Consider my being here... good luck for you. You're not in my home dimension or my normal type of client."

"Client?" He blinked, and tried to read her mind. There was a feeling of age, and power, not quite like a telepath, but something else. And he couldn't read her at all. "What are you?"

"That's both complicated, and nothing that you need to know about." She waved her hand dismissively, and poured herself a drink. "I deal in vengeance. You really don't need to know anything else."

"Maybe I do. The Shadow-spiders deal in power, and the prices that they never mention are quite high. What is the cost for what you offer?" He narrowed his eyes, remembering the slivers of information that he'd caught from the thoughts of the station administration.

"Under very specific circumstances, I can change reality. I can use that to grant you a wish." Her smile was every bit as cold and calculating as anything he'd ever seen. "What you ask for will be changed. Other things - ripples, side effects - will also be changed."

"That sounds... difficult to believe." He murmured, trying again to touch her mind.

"You can't read me." She was smirking now, an infuriating expression. "Consider it. My offer is as straightforward as things get. You say the right words, I change reality. Things will be different, according to what you asked for. Maybe it will be better, maybe it won't."

"So, you say that you can change things, but give me no assurances that it will be for the better?" One eyebrow arched, and he shook his head. "I don't find that reassuring. Why are you here?"

"Because... this is the anniversary of the death of someone that I loved, and you... You remind me of someone from one of his favorite entertainments." Her voice was soft, hints of old pain and grief flickering through.

He wanted to be offended at her reasoning. But then he remembered one particular telepath currently in cryogenic suspension. Maybe motivations that had nothing to do with him or PsiCorps could still be enough. "How do we do this then?"

"You say, 'I wish' and follow that up with whatever wish you think will be most likely to fix things. And really, this is a lot more information than I'm supposed to give you. Normally, the plan is show up when the mortal's in pain, and wait for the right words to slip out. Then, I change reality and you try to cope with the new one." Her words were calm, as if this was perfectly ordinary for her.

He thought about it for a few moments, figuring that this was the sort of thing that he'd likely only get one shot at, assuming that the woman wasn't simply insane, which sounded quite likely. The shadow-spiders were definitely trouble, and they needed to be dealt with, but... Slowly, he started to smile as things came into focus.

"I wish... That I had the power to protect the telepaths from future dangers and that ways were found quickly to repair the damage done to the ones already hurt by the soon to be previous leaders of the PsiCorps."

Her face changed, looking almost raw, as if the skin had been peeled away and her veins dyed dark. Power flared from her like a tidal wave, and her voice echoed in his ears and mind - "Done."

The last thing he heard as reality reshaped itself at the excruciatingly slow speed of thought was her voice, a soft call of "Happy holidays."

end Telepath's Wish.


	7. Joyce and Logan: In a Cabin

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Joyce Summers, Logan (Wolverine of X-Men)

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 802.

Joyce tossed another log onto the fire, and tried not to let herself cry. Hank had sworn that he was meeting some of his college buddies to go fishing up at the lake, where they'd stay in the cabin that they'd bought a few years back.

This cabin. The one that had a foot of snow blocking the door and pristine, untouched roads when she'd arrived. The one with an empty pantry and a fireplace that hadn't been used in a long time.

So much for their fishing trip. Hank clearly hadn't been here. So much for her idea of surprising him. The surprise had been hers.

Something thumped on the door.

Joyce could feel herself trembling as she walked towards the door. Was someone in trouble, or was she about to be in trouble? There had been dozens f stories and movies about people killed for doing this exact thing... Her hand curled around the cold doorknob, and she twisted it, pulling the door open. "Hello?"

A man stood there, swaying in the cold, his shoulders covered in snow. One hand looked pale and frozen to a line of fish, and he blinked, jaw working as if he wanted to say something. Then, he half collapsed, falling into the doorway.

With a squeak, Joyce tried to catch him, only to be dragged down to the floor by the sheer unexpected weight of him. With effort, she dragged him entirely inside, and forced the door shut. "Wake up, mister. You're too heavy for me to drag around."

The man groaned, and raised up on one arm, blinking at the cabin. "Where..."

"My cabin. You must have walked into the door." She tugged at the fish. "Maybe I can fry these up for something hot to eat... some of them at least."

"Good. Taste better that way." He shook his head, and lurched upwards, staggering towards the fire. "Too damn cold out there..."

Joyce put the fish in the little kitchen area, and brought out a thick blanket, holding it towards the man. "You might warm up faster out of those snow covered things."

He accepted the blanket with a smile, and nodded.

"I'll just work on the fish, so you can... umm... right." Joyce could feel herself blushing. God, this sounded like some sort of tawdry romance novel, where the lovely heroine finds the half frozen man, shares a few days of wild passion, and goes away, only to meet up again later, carrying his child and... Never mind. It wouldn't happen like that.

Glancing over, she caught a glimpse of his now bare chest as he pulled the blanket around his shoulders. Then again, maybe she should help warm the man up. And sharing body heat was considered a classic survival technique...

Fish first, Joyce decided. Maybe, depending on what she saw over their shared dinner... If Hank could slip away for his affairs, then why couldn't she? And it wasn't as if she'd probably ever see this man again anyhow. "I'm Joyce, by the way. What should I call you?"

"Logan." He'd settled on the floor close to the fireplace, the blanket pulled close around his shoulders. The frost that had turned his hair to shadowed gray had melted, revealing a wild mass of dark hair that drooped to the blanket.

Smiling, she brought the platter of fried fish over, along with a pair of forks. "I've got some of those fish ready to eat. We should have you warmed up in no time."

His smile made it apparent that he'd been considering a few other ways 'to warm him up' as well. "Thanks."

Almost exactly like one of those romances, in the end. Except that it was assumed by both of them that they'd probably never meet again. And some things were just better in the firsthand experience than set to paper.

end In a Cabin.


	8. Drusilla and Doc Holiday: Moonlight Walt

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Drusilla / Doc Holiday (Tombstone)

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 851.

Drusilla laughed, twirling around in the falling snow. It was drifting down, spinning in the gentle wind. Slowly, the whole city was being covered in fluffy white, making it look like it belonged in a fairy tale. Naturally, she was the lovely princess.

There was a wall, perhaps as high as her head, crowned with a long puff of white snow. Laughing, she leapt to the top of it, proclaiming, "Behold the princess!"

"Not much of a kingdom that you've claimed, princess." The words drawled out, the man's honeyed accent out of place in this city.

Turning, she looked at him, curious what little whispers would cling to him from the past. He wasn't very old, and he was very thin, his eyes bright as he faced the night. Whispers of gambling and drinking, of lots of little teeth and loud banging guns danced and jostled around him. "Who are you, sir?"

"Doc Holiday, at your service, ma'am." He tipped his hat to her, returning it to his head before coughing, his shoulders hunching and he almost curled over the handkerchief. As he tucked it back into his pocket, she could smell the lung-blood that dotted it.

"A pleasure to meet you." Smiling, she hopped from the wall, landing near him. "What are you a doctor of?"

"At one point, I was a damn fine dentist. I know quite a bit about cards, and some about the more extensive treatment of injuries." He shrugged, and looked over her. "And you, princess, must be very cold without a coat."

She giggled, and reached out, taking his hands in her own. "It doesn't bother me. Dance with me? My Spike won't dance anymore, he's too busy."

"Always a pleasure to dance with a lovely woman." He drawled, rising to his feet.

They twirled around the courtyard in something close to a waltz, and he flirted idly with her, smiling at her comments even when he didn't quite know what to think of them.

"You should go inside now, good doctor." She sighed, reluctantly stepping away from him. "The fussing ladies are coming to get you, and they will be most unamused that you've gotten your stockings wet."

"Maybe you should go back to where you're supposed to be as well, princess. You are a charming conversationalist and a delightful dancer." He made a slightly wobbly bow, and shuffled back inside.

"I wish I could keep him." Drusilla pouted, knowing that her Spike would fly into a terrible rage if she tried to bring home someone. But perhaps she could dance with him again in the moonlight?

end Moonlight Waltz.


	9. Jesse, Richie: Ghosts of Christmas Past

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Jesse, Richie Ryan

disclaimer: Jesse was created and killed by Joss of BtVS. Richie was created & kiled by Panzer/Davis (Highlander).

distribution: Mental Wanderings, Twisting - anyone else ask.

notes: for TtH FfA, #297. Post Ahrimane arc for Highlander.

"Mac? Come on, can't you hear me? If you can't pull out of this, you're toast." Richie glared at his friend and mentor. The fact that Duncan MacCleod had also been the one to take his head didn't mean that he worried any less about him. It had been that demon's fault anyhow.

"He can't hear you." The voice was young, no more than fifteen.

The guy actually reminded him of the way he'd been when he first met Duncan, actually. Except that he looked more innocent, as if he'd never experienced the same hardships and trials.

"What do you mean, he can't hear me? If he doesn't deal, he's going to lose his head." Richie paused, thinking about the dangers of immortality. "Literally."

The other guy shrugged, hands tucked in the pockets of a light jacket. "I know. But hey, I've been doing this dead guy thing for a while, and right now, he can't hear you. Most you'll be able to manage is to cause him to notice something, think of something the pair of you did. Memory trigger kind of thing. I bet Willow could explain it better, considering her parents..."

"You said right now." Richie considered the words carefully. "Does that mean there's a time or a place that I can make him hear me?"

"Yeah." The other guy nodded, grinning a little. "So, you're Richie, and I'm Jesse. I guess I'm your ghost mentor or whatever."

"Can ghosts cut each other's heads off?" Richie muttered, rubbing at his neck.

Jesse grinned for a moment before answering. "It's a lot harder, and it sort of itches, but it doesn't do much to you. Unless you get dizzy or hurl from seeing things that aren't where what feels like your body is. It feels really weird."

Richie shuddered. "I'll pass on that one. So, how do I talk to him?"

"Ever watch that movie about Scrooge? Not the McDuck one, the one by that English guy? Dickens?" Jesse asked.

"Parts of it." Richie frowned. "Old cranky rich guy who didn't spend his money, gets haunted, turns into a nice guy overnight? Unrealistic bullshit sort of story?"

"Yeah, that one." Jesse nodded, looking amused. "It never seemed very likely to me either."

"What's that got to do with us?" Richie grumbled.

"Dude, we are the ghosts of Christmas Past. Nothing in the rules say we have to be the ghosts of the you-screwed-up-here past."

"Really?" Richie rightened, his mind going over all the things that he'd wanted to say to Mac. Things that he'd never said when he had the chance.

"Yeah." Jesse nodded, and then gave a smile that was entirely teenage boy. "As opposed to the dead guys hanging out in the girls' locker room."

"What, that's the rest of the year?" Richie joked.

Jesse shrugged, as if not quite willing to protest. "I got to do something with my time, don't I?"

"Thanks, man. I'll have a talk with him tonight." Richie said, feeling serious for just a moment.

end Ghosts of Christmas Past.


	10. Cordelia Chase and Jason Nesmith

author: Lucinda

rating: pg

main characters: Cordelia Chase/Jason Nesmith (GQ)

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 843.

Jason Nesmith looked at the old hotel and winced. There was no obvious cause for it, the building was in good shape, and there wasn't any visible sign of threat around. No, his dismay was all internal. Jason was trying to gather the courage to go knock on the door and try to talk to Cordelia Chase.

He'd met her when she was cast as the girl of the episode for Galaxy Quest, the television series that he was the star of. They'd been explosive together, not having a single peaceful moment, either arguing or kissing furiously. It had seemed like it would be a fairly normal Hollywood romance, with a lot of excitement before they broke up to go their separate ways.

Then the Thermians had come back and taken them onto the Protector to save the galaxy, again. Everybody's secrets had come out, and to be honest, he hadn't coped very well.

"You're standing in the courtyard." Cordelia's voice was amused. "Hello, Captain."

"Commander." He growled, automatically correcting her about his character's rank. "Actually, I'm here as myself."

"Captain, Commander... whatever." She waved her hand. "So, what brings you here, Jason?"

"Can we go inside and talk?" He asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. She was the only woman he knew that could make him so nervous by doing nothing at all.

With a shrug, she turned and walked over to the frosted glass doors. Opening one, she glanced back, raising one eyebrow even as she didn't give him an invitation. "I have coffee."

He followed her inside, arching one eyebrow over his sunglasses. "It's still daylight, how could I be a vampire?"

"It's a habit, I suppose." She shrugged, and walked towards the coffee pot. "Wesley made it, so it's not bad today."

"Good." He accepted a cup, and walked over to the couch, singing into the cushions. "I... Did you have any plans for Saturday?"

"Mmm." She sipped at her own coffee. "There's a demon ritual to break up on Friday, but I think Saturday's still open. Why?"

"Demon ritual?" For a moment, he pondered that before deciding that he didn't want to know. "There's a Christmas party for the cast, and I was wondering if you'd like to go with me."

"Where? Is it formal, or only semi formal?" She sipped at the coffee.

"Can't you look and see?" He asked, remembering her claims at being a Seer.

"It's not that easy. I See what I need to See, not what I choose." One hand crept upwards, touching her temple. "Just tell me already. I need to know if I have to go shopping for a new dress."

"Not too formal, after all, you've met most of us." He smiled, and tried to relax. "Of course, there's no reason why you couldn't go shopping. I'll pick you up here, at five on Saturday."

"That should be fine." Cordelia smiled. "So, are we dating again?"

"I guess we are." He smiled back.

end Christmas Cast Party.


	11. Faith & Charlie W: Hot Romanian Nights

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Faith, Charlie Weasley

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 959. Post s7.

Faith shook her hair back and glared at the trees. Why had the vampire gone into the trees? Why had the stupid blood sucker even left the city to begin with? For that matter, how come she'd ended up being the one to go to Romania anyhow?

The coin toss had probably been rigged. Stupid coin, stupid Kennedy... Well, at least she was far away from that brat of a Slayer.

Ahead, she heard the snapping of twigs, and the vampire cursed. She could tell that much even without speaking any Romanian at all. Now, the question was, did his curses have to do with being chased by a Slayer, or was there something else bothering him?

More branches snapped, some of them sounding like they were still in the trees, and something roared. It was definitely a large predator, not a human trying to sound scary. It wasn't a lion, or a bear, or any of the demon types that Faith was familiar with, and it sounded like the thing's head was at least a good twenty feet from the ground.

"This can't be good." Faith whispered, clutching her stake tighter. "I think I need a bigger stake."

The roar sounded again, and fire lit the air, descending from a large scaly head towards three terrified vampires. One of them managed to evade the gout of flames, diving frantically to the side while the other two barely had time to scream before falling to ashes amid the dancing flames. The flames continued to burn on the ground, and Faith could see the remaining vampire pick himself up, and glance fearfully towards the looming dark shape that could only be a dragon.

Faith glanced at her stake, now completely certain that it wouldn't be big enough at all. "This is bad."

The dragon roared again, and Faith made a decision - get out of there and don't go back without some better weapons. She started to run, trying to run as quietly as she could through the trees.

She could hear the dragon crashing through the trees behind her. More flame shot out to the left of her, and a dead looking tree caught fire.

Her mind was frantically trying to remember anything she might have seen about dragons. Large carnivores, very difficult to poison, armored, fire breathing... she couldn't remember anything particularly helpful at the moment.

There was a strange shape flying towards her. It looked rather like a person crouched over a broom, assuming that the broom in question would be airborne, moving rapidly towards her.

Looking towards the flying shape that might or might not have been a person, she shouted "Got any dragonsbane?"

"Very funny!" A very normal sounding man's voice replied. Swooping closer, a hand was being held out. "Grab on, I think I can get us out of range."

A small, paranoid part of her wondered just who - or what - broom boy was, and why he would help her. What did he get out of it? How did she know he didn't have some nefarious ulterior motive?

She grabbed his hand anyhow. If he did have some hidden motive, she'd be able to deal with it later, when she wasn't fried to a crispy dragon-snack. "Thanks."

As the broom sailed upwards at a rather sharp angle, Faith heard the dragon roaring again. It sounded angry, and rather frustrated. Shuddering, she held tightly to the man, noticing that he seemed to be wearing some sort of dark robes which smelled strongly of aloe and scorched wool.

He didn't speak again until they had emerged into the air above the trees. She could still see the pine that she'd run past burning merrily, and another patch of smoke rising from where the vampires had been. Now that the threat of instant fiery death was gone, the view was actually quite pretty.

"So, how did you manage to wander into the dragon preserve?" He asked, his words carrying a faint British accent.

"If I'd known there was a dragon preserve there, I wouldn't have gone. Faith shuddered again. "I was chasing a vampire, and he ran into the woods. Apparently, he was meeting up with his friends."

"Vampires?" The man sounded a bit worried. "Where are they now? We'll need to report that to someone."

"See that patch of smoke?" Faith pointed, pleased that her arm wasn't shaking anymore. "They were there. I don't think they're going to be a problem anymore."

"I suppose not." He agreed, and half twisted to look at her, revealing unevenly scorched red hair and a scattering of what might have been freckles or might have been tiny burns. "Why were you chasing a vampire in the first place?"

"I'm Faith, the vampire Slayer." Faith replied, deliberately not mentioning that she was only one of many slayers now. She didn't know how much she could trust this guy, rescue or not. "It's my job to hunt vampires."

"Really the Slayer?" He sounded impressed and surprised. "That's spiffing."

"Yeah, really the Slayer. So, who are you, broom boy, and what were you doing out here?" Faith smiled, thinking that it might be a good idea not to antagonize him too much, especially not at least a hundred feet in the air over trees and probably several dragons.

"I'm Charlie Weasley, and I work here at the preserve. I'm supposed to keep the dragons safe from people, or possibly people safe from the dragons, whichever seems more appropriate at the time." He was smiling a little.

"Lucky me." She smiled again, remembering the feeling of solid muscles under those scorched robes. "So, is there somewhere that we can land this thing without becoming dragon bait?"

"Well, if you're not afraid I'm going to try to take advantage of you, I could bring us down at my place." He offered.

"I'm pretty brave." Faith purred, smiling just a little. After all, he was in good shape, didn't seem to be freaked out, and she wasn't really involved with anybody since that thing with Robin had fallen apart. "And it's only taking advantage if I object."

One eyebrow shot upwards, and for a moment, he was stunned speechless. "Well... In that case, here we go."

Holding tightly to him again, Faith just chuckled. Romania was definitely looking up for her. "Here we go indeed."

end Hot Romanian Nights.


	12. Rupert Giles and Lara Croft

author: Lucinda

rating: pg

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings. Otherwise please ask first.

notes: Tth FfA pairing #145: Rupert Giles / Lara Croft

The knock on his door was unexpected. He didn't have any relatives in this country, and after what had happened to poor Jenny, dating hadn't seemed like a very good idea. Generally, the children didn't knock, and it really wasn't the normal hour for them to be dropping by anyhow. Again, someone knocked on the front door.

Placing his cup of tea on the table, Rupert Giles stood up, one hand automatically trying to brush wrinkles from his trousers even as he knew that it was unlikely anybody here would care. "Just a moment."

A glance out the row of tiny windows beside the door showed that the sun had just set, color still lingering on the horizon without the protective rays of the sun. Cautious, he opened the door, remaining within the boundary of the house. "Hello?"

The woman was not anybody that he could recall meeting. With her long legs encased in close fitting leather and her remarkably... fit... body showing itself nicely with her blouse, not to mention the long brown braid and kissable looking lips, he certainly would have remembered her. She held a package in one hand, cradling it against her stomach. "Are you Rupert Giles?"

Trying not to stare too obviously, he nodded. "I am. Forgive me, but I don't seem to know who you are, Miss...?

"I'm Lara Croft." She smiled, teeth white against her tanned face. "My father's papers indicated that you'd contacted him several years ago regarding a list of artifacts. Apparently, you wanted the opportunity to place a bid on them if they ever came into his possession. One of those items has just come into my possession, and so I thought of you."

"Really?" He did remember Lord Croft, a somewhat eccentric man who enjoyed flinging himself into the path of danger to find all manner of old relics. If one of those items had surfaced... Stepping back, he motioned for her to come inside, saying only "Perhaps we could discuss the item over tea?"

"Thank you." Gracefully, she stepped over the threshold, her eyes roving over his home quickly, pausing over the sword partially exposed by the cupboard door being ajar. "No holiday decorations?"

"I didn't have anybody to decorate for this season." The words were a bit more bitter than he'd intended.

She simply nodded, her eyes suggesting that she knew that feeling. "It might be nice to have a proper cup of tea."

Feeling awkward, he poured her a cup of tea, asking, "Cream, sugar, lemon?"

"Please." Her voice hinted that while she might be tired, she didn't want to completely forget proper manners.

"I could almost still be in England." She murmured, sipping at the tea. "This is lovely, thank you."

"There would be snow in England." He murmured, remembering the elegance of the white-covered trees and shrubberies. The warmth of California might make fighting demons easier, but it just didn't feel like the winter holidays without snow. "It just doesn't feel the same without it."

"Ice skating." There was a twinkle in her eyes.

"Mulled wine and holiday carolers." He remembered, thinking back to his days as a student.

"It's very different in other places, isn't it?" She sounded wistful. "There's really not anywhere else quite like home."

"No, I suppose not." He agreed.

They reminisced about English holiday traditions over a few cups of tea before any mention of business came up at all, both enjoying the chance to talk to someone else who understood the feeling.

He was still smiling as he realized that she'd fallen asleep on his couch. Carefully, he draped a blanket over her, hoping that his couch wouldn't leave her back stiff. That would be a poor thanks for reviving his memories of home, after all. "Sleep well, Lady Croft."

end No Place Like Home.


	13. Harmony K & Sabertooth: Tis the Season

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Harmony Kendall & Victor Creed (Sabertooth)

disclaimer: Harmony was created by Joss, Sabertooth belongs to Marvel.

distribution: if you have permission for my other BtVS/X-men crossovers, yes. Otherwise ask.

notes: AU post the Initiative (S4 BtVS), inspecific comic setting.

He could hear her stomping down the hallway, ranting about annoying store clerks. Grumbling about the traffic and the snow and the heavy coats required by the cold. She was even annoyed about all the same old Christmas songs being played to death on the radio and in the mall. He still didn't quite understand why a vampire wanted to go shopping at the mall anyhow, or was she trying to combine shopping with dinner?

"Did you find everything?" He asked, opening the door for her.

The pile of bags and packages growled, a sure sign that Harmony was under it somewhere. "No."

Eyeing the mass of purchases, Vic shook his head, suddenly thankful that his line of work, illegal though it was, paid very well. Harmony liked to shop, or maybe it would be more accurate to say that she thirsted for it the same way she thirsted for blood. "What could you possibly have missed?"

"Christmas presents, of course!" She chided, dropping the mass of bags onto the couch. "We still have a few people to shop for. Wait, they're your people - what do you get a mostly naked shape shifter and an old politically obsessed human magnet?"

Blinking, Vic took a moment to sort through that. Christmas presents for Mystique and Magneto? "I think he's Jewish. Don't they do Chanukkah or something? As for Mystique... last year I got her a taser."

"A taser? Well, I suppose I can see it for her." Harmony sniffed, and inspected her nails. "Maybe a gift wrapped box of chocolates?"

"She does like chocolates." Vic nodded, remembering the sight of her eating a piece once. "She likes chocolate a lot. No clue about Magneto though. Last year, I brought him the head of a former prison guard."

"Eeew. That would start to smell, we are so not doing that this year." Harmony sighed, and moved closer, hugging him for a moment. "Did he like it?"

"Personal reasons, and yeah." He kissed her, feeling her cold hands run over his muscles. "But I think that was the last of his former prison guards, and I've got no other ideas. He's not really the sort of person who wears a tie."

Giggling, she winked at him. "Neither are you. Oh, wait, I'm looking at this the wrong way. Instead of asking what to get the political human magnet, I should think of what to get for the old Jewish guy."

"Does that make it any easier?" He could feel himself smiling.

"Kind of. One of the people that I graduated with is Jewish, she might have some ideas. I can call her and ask." Harmony smiled.

"A friend of yours?" He glanced at the couch, and decided to sit in the chair instead.

"Yeah." Harmony searched on the clutter of the table for the phone. "Sort of. She used to help me study for my tests."

Frowning, she started dropping papers onto a chair, growling softly. "Okay, maybe I tried to kill her once, but it wasn't anything personal. But I don't know anybody else to ask."

Harmony clutched the phone and a pink address book in her hand, and walked towards the bedroom, fingers already punching in a number.

Victor Creed just started to laugh. For the first time in as many years as he could remember, he finally understood the phrase 'tis the season to be jolly.' After all, with Harmony around, you could either be amused, or you could kill her.

end Tis the Season.


	14. Xander Harris and Delilah

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Xander Harris, Delilah

disclaimer: Xander was created by Joss, Delilah is from Gargoyles (Buena Vista, I think.)

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 853. Takes place after S3, in an AU road-trip that didn't end at Oxnard.

Xander sighed as his car refused to start. He'd decided to see as many states as he could over the summer, as a reason to get away from the Hellmouth. Maybe he'd been hoping that he could find something better. Now, in Manhattan, with almost no money, no place to stay because he hadn't found a hotel yet, and his car had just died.

"This is not a good thing." He popped the hood release, hoping that it would be something little, something that he could fix.

The quantities of what was either pale smoke or steam rising from under his hood was not a reassurring sight. Poking one hand towards it, he discovered that it was hot steam, and he immediately decided that he had no clue how to fix that. "Not a good thing."

The crunch of a foot on the street caught his attention, and he had an immediate flash of fear - vampires weren't limited to hanging out over the Hellmouth. They were all over. Probably including Manhattan. Slowly, he looked up.

The good news was that they looked human. The bad news was that there were four of them, one had a knife, and they didn't look friendly. Considering the way their clothing sort of matched, he figured that they were part of a gang. Wonderful, he'd left the Hellmouth, and was about to become the target of genuine gang violence.

"Give us your money." Knife-guy demanded, gesturing with the blade to make it catch the light in an intimidating manner.

Xander shook his head, feeling nervous, but nowhere near the abject fear that they probably wanted. Compared to vampires and zombies, these guys weren't that scary. "Sorry, but you're out of luck. If I had money, my car wouldn't be sitting there dead and spewing steam."

"Oh, you think you're a tough guy, huh?" Knife-guy demanded, and then lunged for Xander, clearly counting on surprise and intimidation.

Xander evaded the blow, sending the guy crashing into the hood of his car with a helpful shove. Maybe the guy thought he was fast, but Xander had been fighting vampires, and they could out-move any normal guy even when they were dumber than dirt.

"Why you stinkin'..." The rest of them jumped into the fight.

Xander knew that he was in trouble now. One human without special training, he could handle. Four of them, one with a knife? That was a problem, even if he had kept some moves from soldier boy back at Halloween. That would probably be just enough to move it from fast and painful to slow and painful. But he refused to give up that easily. He'd go down fighting, and make every single one of them regret thinking he was an easy mark.

There was a scream, like a panther and something else blended together, and following close behind it was a light colored something descending from the sky.

Xander took half a moment to hope that he wasn't about to become something's dinner, and kept trying to fight the gang members. He was pleasantly surprised when the flying thing grabbed one of the gang members and tossed him towards a wall. Between his own abilities and the arrival of the other creature, the gang members were quickly left in variations of painfully downed, but alive.

Trying to catch his breath, he took the moment to take a good look at the whatever it was. The new arrival was definitely female, and wore what looked like a bathing suit with a dark jacket and a belt. She had caramel colored skin, with white hair and undersides to her wings. There was a tail, and her hands and feet ended in sharp looking talons. She was also watching him, her face looking surprisingly human like and nervous.

"umm... thanks." Xander managed, still trying to catch his breath. He couldn't recall seeing anything like her in the many demon books that he'd helped search through, so he added, "What are you?"

"I'm a gargoyle." Her voice was soft, almost hesitant sounding. "My name's Delilah."

"Delilah... pretty name. And you had great timing." Xander smiled, feeling much better. If she'd been planning to attack him, she wouldn't be looking almost shy and telling him her name.

"You're not afraid?" She blinked, looking surprised and relieved. "Most humans... they're afraid of us."

"Us... there are more of you? Gargoyles, I mean." Xander blurted.

"Not a lot more." Her voice was soft, and there was something hard to read in her eyes. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"No. I hadn't got that far before my car died." He shrugged, trying to pretend that everything was okay.

She looked at him, biting her lip awkwardly. "Maybe... you could stay with us, in the Labyrinth?"

"You don't have a minotaur in there, do you?" Xander joked, turning to grab his duffel from the back of the car. "Or some guy who looks like David Bowie in tights?"

"No." She sounded a bit confused.

"well then, lead the way." Xander smiled, feeling much better. "Who am I to turn down the invitation of a pretty lady who just saved me?"

She giggled, blushing a little. "Who are you?"

"Xander Harris." He smiled, thinking that he might end up staying here for a while. Especially since he no longer had transportation. But that was starting to look like an okay thing.

Cautiously, she looped her arm through his, hesitantly smiling at him. "Maybe you'll like it here?"

"Maybe I will." He agreed, a corner of his mind wondering if Delilah had a boyfriend, and if not, if she'd consider dating outside her species. Another corner was trying to figure out if that would even be a safe idea. But then again, he'd never managed a good relationship with a human girl, and he tended to attract the weird types anyhow, why not go for it?

end Manhattan Meetings.


	15. Kate Lockely and Alex Summers

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Kate Lockely, Alex Summers (Havok of the X-men)

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 169.

Kate tapped her fingers against the railing, watching the street. There was a particular car that she was waiting for, and had been for the past fifteen minutes. "You're running late, Summers."

Considering the whole mess that had been last year, with meeting Angel, discovering so many freaky things were real, and nearly dying, she'd hoped that if she found herself a nice, normal guy to date, things would get better. She'd met Alex Summers, and he wasn't exactly normal, though he was fairly nice.

Finally, his car pulled up, a line of scorched paint crossing over the trunk, and another along the rear passenger side door. There were still heat ripples rising from both of them. She wasn't surprised by these things anymore.

Shaking her head, Kate walked down to the car, letting herself in on the passenger side. "Work followed you home again?"

"It's not too bad. Lorna and Guido were taking care of the guy." He smiled, his blond hair tousled, and the tie of his suit crooked. Holding up the pair of tickets, he continued, "We had other plans for tonight."

Leaning forward, she straightened his tie, and gave him a quick kiss. "Good. I was stating to worry that you'd forgotten about the ballet."

"Kate, sweetheart, I wouldn't do that! I promised to take you to the Nutcracker ballet, and we're going to go to the ballet." He winked at her. "Now we just need to hope that we can find a place to park."

Kate laughed as she fastened her seat belt. "You fight mutant menaces and giant robots, how bad could a play be?"

Alex just shuddered, and looked at her. "Remind me to talk about some of the problems that have plagued my family. Later. But I'll be happy as long as we don't get attacked or transported somewhere else by an enemy or illegal technology while trying to watch the performance."

"You say the strangest things sometimes." She sighed, and leaned back as they drove away.

Normal was relative, she supposed. Considering everything else, dating a mutant superhero wasn't that abnormal at all. And at least he wouldn't loose his temper and try to eat anybody.

end Nutcracker Ballet.


	16. Drusilla and Morticia Addams

author: Lucinda

rating: pg

main characters: Drusilla, Morticia Addams

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: after S5 BtVS. FfA pairing 396.

Drusilla sighed as she wandered along the street. Lights twinkled like stars all over, only they didn't whisper secrets, instead they sang insipid songs of cheer and love and presents. She liked the parts about presents, though.

Rubbing her hands together, Drusilla began to sing. "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a vulture in a thorn tree. On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me two naughty girls and a vulture in a thorn tree...

She ignored the fact that most of the people were edging away from her now, enjoying the night air and cheerfully singing.

"Pardon, but where did you learn that version? It's not the same as the ones that I've heard before." The woman's voice was cool and smooth, like chilled secrets.

Drusilla turned to look, and blinked in surprise. The woman was a few inches taller, and wore a close fitting black gown of beaded satin, covered with a black cloak trimmed with black fur. Her skin was pale, her hair and eyes were black, and her lips had been painted blood red. Miss Edith was shocked into silence as well.

"I do hope that I haven't alarmed you. But I was hoping that I could convince you to teach your version to my children." The woman smiled, and held out one hand, elegantly encased in long black gloves. "I'm Morticia Addams."

Remembering her manners, Drusilla took the lady's hand and curtseyed. "I'm Drusilla, and this is Miss Edith."

"Do come along, and join us for dinner. Perhaps Miss Edith can sit with Marie Antoinette, my daughter's doll." Morticia smiled, and placed her hand on Drusilla's elbow, sweeping her along with her.

They arrived in front of large, ominous house, decorated only with several strands of red lights wreathing the iron gates. The songs here were not confused, and some were slow and somber like dirges while others danced cheerfully around with knives. "You have a lovely house, Mrs. Addams."

They were joined by a solid looking boy toting a stop sign, and a very solemn looking girl with two dark braids. "Mother."

"Pugsley, Wednesday, say hello to Drusilla. She'll be joining us for dinner." Morticia smiled. "And she knows a lovely Christmas carol that I hope you two might learn."

Wednesday arched an eyebrow, her face otherwise blank as she looked at Drusilla. Pugsley winced. "Another Christmas carol? But they're so... boring."

"I think you'll find hers to be much more in keeping with the season." Morticia spoke, her arms crossing firmly.

"Yes, mother." Pugsley slumped.

Smiling at the charming boy, Drusilla began to sing again. "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a vulture in a thorn tree. On the second day of Christmas, my true love..."

end Days of Christmas.


	17. Winifred Burkle and Hellboy

author: Lucinda

rating: if you could watch the series and the movie, you're going to be just fine.

main characters: (Wini)Fred Burkle, Hellboy

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 263. AU from AtS at Fredless - she left LA and decided to rebuild her life. It just didn't go quite as she'd planned...

Fred Burkle eyed the wires, hoping that they'd stay joined together properly, so that she could finish the test sequence this time. Her invention was being difficult. "You'd think with the kind of budget we've got here, the wires would stay put and the clips wouldn't try to fly away."

"Right, time to find out anyhow…" She walked over to the solid table where she had the control. She'd never really gotten out of the habit of talking to herself, a lingering reminder of her time in Pylea.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button, prepared to duck under the table if this one looked likely to explode, as several other attempts had done. Slowly, and with an annoyingly loud humming noise, the contraption rose into the air, and began to rotate. She could see sparks at the connection, and mane a mental note to try to fix that later.

The door opened just as smoke began to wisp up from the connection, and the contraption wobbled. A very large figure in a trench coat and hat froze, a deep "What…?" emerging.

Naturally, that was when the contraption, built using what were supposed to be quality controlled pieces, exploded, sending smoke and shrapnel everywhere. Fred squeaked as she dropped to the floor, knowing that the table, in conjunction with her safety goggles, would protect her. Hopefully, whoever had the poor sense to come into a room with a big sign lettered 'Testing – stay out – danger of explosions' had also ducked, otherwise she'd be in trouble with the head of the department.

The deep, rumbly voice spoke again, full of confusion. "What was that supposed to be?"

"It's a sign that the quality control here apparently isn't as good as what I got scrounging parts from old toasters." Fred muttered, rising from behind the table. "What it was supposed to be was a hovering platform, so they could put their cameras or a sensor on it, for the remote researches, you know?"

"I think it has a few bugs." He brushed at his sleeve with a very red hand.

"You didn't get burned, did you? And what did you think you were doing coming in like that anyhow? I put the sign up so nobody would get blasted, and there you were, coming right in and getting blasted anyhow…" Fred stopped, blinking at the stranger who had just removed his hat.

The very tall man with red skin and the sawed off ends of a pair of horns stuck on his forehead. She'd seen bulls with horns like that, back at home, but never a person before, not even in Pylea. They'd been green anyhow, in Pylea, not red. "You weren't worried about getting blasted?"

"I'm fireproof." He shrugged, and leaned against the wall. "You're Fred Burkle?"

"Yes. Fred's short for Winifred, I'm not a guy, and that still doesn't tell me why you're here." She pulled out her notebook, marking down to recheck that connection on the plans, and to find a better way to prevent sparking.

She had the oddest impression that she was confusing the big red guy. Not that she was doing anything particularly unusual, but he was giving her this funny look. "What?"

"You seem particularly calm." He offered. "I'm from the Bureau of Paranormal Investigations."

"Who aren't supposed to exist. That's what the fellow on the news was saying, anyhow." She looked up, and frowned at him. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to be panicking and tying to hide under the table again? I don't think it would do very much good, and I'm not afraid of you."

"You don't need to hide under the table." He looked a little amused. "We're trying to offer you a job."

"So I could make things explode over in some different laboratories?" She cold feel a smile forming. "I suppose they sent you in because I ignored that other fellow?"

"I'm a little hard to ignore." He agreed, folding his arms across a very broad chest. "And I think they were hoping more for things that only explode when they're supposed to."

"So, where are you from? I didn't see anything like you in Pylea, but there's a lot of types of demon out there…" Fred closed her notebook, and pulled off the safety goggles.

"I'm not sure where I'm from, I got here as a baby." He shrugged, looking a little stiff. "Will that be a problem for you?"

"Not really. Before I came back to the university, I worked for a vampire. I can handle strange, it's normal that gives me problems." She smiled at him. "So, what sort of terms would I have?"

Chuckling, he pulled out some pages. "Work for us, and I can promise you won't have a whole lot of normal to worry about."

End A Job Offer.


	18. Dawn Summers and Talia Wagner

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Dawn Summers, Talia Wagner

disclaimers: Dawn was created by Joss, Talia belongs to Marvel Comics (from the pages of eXiles).

distribution: Twisting, archives for lists, and Mental Wanderings - otherwise please ask first.

notes: TtH FfA pairing # 828. Au from the later half of season 5 BtVS.

Dawn sighed, and kicked at a rock. After her mother's funeral, her father had declared that she had to go live with him, that Buffy wouldn't be a good caretaker for a teenaged girl. So, she'd been whisked away from Sunnydale, spent a few very tense days with her father and his live-in lover and secretary, a woman barely older than Buffy, and then been plopped into an expensive private school. Buffy hadn't fought too much, believing that she'd be safer away from Glory and the Hellmouth.

She felt so out of place at the Frost Academy. She wasn't as rich as most of the people here, and hadn't spent her whole life in private, expensive schools for the very rich. She didn't move in the powerful circles of the political have's. More frustratingly, she wasn't quite familiar with the East coast slang and fashions, and 'this is what we did in California' just didn't work very well. Besides, Ms. Frost sort of creeped her out. She'd look at you, and it felt like she could look into you and read everything that was going on in your mind.

Glaring upwards, she grumbled, "Is it too much to ask that I could have someone here to talk to? Just one person who's life has been as messed up and interesting as mine? Someone who wouldn't think I'm crazy if I talked about Sunnydale?"

Unfortunately, since she'd been looking up to make her demand to the empty sky, Dawn didn't see the uneven section of the sidewalk, and tripped as her toe came into contact with a section that was a good inch and a half higher than the one before it. She went down hard, scraping her knees and palms open on the ground.

There were glowing green swirls in the blood that hit the ground.

Wisps of green rose up, curling into a sort of egg shape in the air, and Dawn scrambled backwards, her heart racing. Something weird was happening, and she had no idea what it was. Sunnydale had also taught her that 'something weird' was rarely something good as well. "Oh God, oh God..."

There was a soft bamfing noise, and the glowing green misty egg shape swelled outwards, now large enough that a person could have crouched inside, and it was full of dark bluish gray sulfurous smelling smoke. For three very fast heartbeats, it stayed like that, and then the wispy green egg shape vanished, letting the smoke flutter away on the breeze. Someone or something landed lightly on the sidewalk, right over the few smears of Dawn's blood. The something was female, with dark blue skin, two toed feet, and a tail, rather strongly resembling a medieval demon illustration. Except medieval demons had never been drawn in spandex that looked suspiciously like a super-person's uniform.

Dawn tried to catch her breath, still staring at the blue person, who really didn't look that much older than she was, actually. She couldn't quite finish a single question, and she wasn't even certain she had the right questions to ask. "Who...? How...?"

The blue girl looked at her, with bright yellow eyes. When she spoke, her words were soft, as if she was trying not to frighten Dawn, and carried a faint hint of an accent that Dawn couldn't quite place. "I'm Talia, and I'm a mutant. Where am I?"

"A mutant...okay, I guess that explains the blue. This is Massachusetts, behind the Frost Academy." Dawn was feeling a lot better now that it didn't look like the blue girl was about to attack her. After all, neither Spike or Clem were human, and they weren't bad guys.

"Frost Academy? Is the Headmistress... Cordelia Frost?" Talia looked apprehensive, and her tail swished uncertainly, like a cat near a rocking chair, as Tara would have said.

"No, the Headmistress is named Emma Frost, about your height and blond." Dawn frowned, and then remembered something that had happened several years ago, that Buffy still didn't think she knew about. Fragments about a vampire version of Willow, who dressed and acted very un-Willow-like. "Did you... are you from an alternate dimension?"

"Yes." Talia nodded, looking a bit relieved. "You're familiar with the idea? Most of the time I have to explain it a lot, and I don't know all the technical details."

"Something about rules of probability and chaos theory, at least, that's what Giles said. I sort of like the Trousers of Time theory, myself. But the short, non-technical is a world sort of like this one, but something in the past that could have gone several ways went a different way there than here, and poof, you get a different world. And Anya said something once about a world without shrimp… You do have shrimp where you're from, right?" Dawn shrugged and grinned. "So, is this a normal Tuesday for you?"

For a moment, Talia looked thoughtful before grinning herself. "Nobody's shooting at me yet, so I'd say things are going a bit better than normal. No shrimp? I haven't been there, but I bet Aunt Rogue would like it, she has this problem with shrimp…"

"Popping into an alternate dimension is better than normal?" Dawn blinked, thinking back to her words just before Talia had arrived.

Talia sighed, and one hand waved towards the side. "My life is... interesting. You could also say confusing and dangerous."

Dawn felt a lot better. "Well, if we can get into my room without running into any of the snobs, we can swap stories. My life has also been interesting with a side of confusing and dangerous."

"Lead on then." Talia smiled, and they started walking back towards the buildings. "It might be nice to sit down and swap stories with someone. And for once, the fate world isn't in my hands."

"That's normally my sister's job, and it clearly sucks." Dawn muttered, and then offered, "I can make us hot cocoa, with the little marshmallows."

"Oh yeah, this is looking a lot better than a normal Tuesday." Talia murmured.

end Popping In.


	19. Faith and Lucian LaCroix

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Faith, Lucian LaCroix

disclaimer: Faith was created by Joss, LaCroix belongs to whoever owns Forever Knight (which isn't me).

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings - or if someone asks for it.

notes: AU post S4 BtVS, written for Twisting's winter 2004/05 fic-for-all. Pairing/combination #319

Faith knew that she'd found something abnormal as soon as she'd wandered into the club. It had looked promising from the outside, all gothic with a line of people and good music. Either some slaying action or some other kind of action, she wasn't too certain that she cared which.

The guy that maybe-accidentally bumped into her on the way to the dance floor had a vampire vibe to him. So did the blond in the tight dress by the bar, and the hottie leaning close to the phone. Frowning, Faith reflected that this could end up being a very bad thing.

"Got some ID on you?" The guy looked like a bouncer, a towering mass of muscle that would have been a lot more intimidating if he wasn't just human, or if she wasn't a Slayer.

Faith flashed a smile, and made a show of patting over her tight leather pants. She knew that she not only didn't have any ID, she was still technically underage for drinking. But hey, if she could fight demons and risk her life, she damn well should be able to get a drink afterwards, right? "Just a moment, let me find it..."

"I will deal with her, Marcus." The voice was cool, with faint traces of an accent that Faith couldn't place. But what she noticed the most was the feeling of power to it.

Faith knew before she even looked over at the guy that he was a vampire. She just hadn't expected it to be quite so obvious. He was a pale man with pale, intense eyes and dark clothing. Unlike most vamps that she'd seen, he looked like an older man, his hair gone gray and faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, though he carried himself like a warrior. A quick 'feel' told her that she'd best play nice and start praying, he'd be able to wipe the floor with her without any effort at all.

"This way, I think conversation will be easier away from the crowd." The words, politely framed, had the feel of an order, and he turned and started up a flight of stairs without waiting to see if she'd follow.

Faith followed him, feeling nervous. He hadn't done anything threatening, or even rude, but wondered just how high her chances of walking alive out of this building really were. "So, what should I call you?"

As he opened a door and motioned for her to follow him into an office, he spoke again. "I am known as Lucian LaCroix."

"LaCroix? A vampire called..." Faith shook her head, wondering if that was deliberate or pure weird coincidence. "And I'm Faith."

He turned on a small lamp, creating a pool of soft light in the office. It looked surprisingly normal, except for a lack of windows, and even that wasn't too different. "There is no need for a Slayer in Toronto, Faith."

"You can't seriously expect to believe that I didn't feel the vamps down there." She settled herself into a chair, smiling slightly as the leather cradled her. "Nice office, by the way."

"Would you care for a drink? There is no reason not to at least try a civil discussion before killing someone, and I've been assured that it's the new fashion in diplomacy."

Faith wasn't certain if he was making a subtle joke or not. "Alcohol's good."

Moving to a cabinet, he produced two glasses. Into one, he poured an amber liquid, while another bottle produced something that was dark red and a little thicker for the second glass. "A much more civilized means of drinking, better for mixed company."

Faith wasn't even certain when he'd moved, but he was there, offering her the amber drink, and then he was gain behind the desk, seated. It should have seemed polite, almost courteous, but it set her nerves on edge. "So, Toronto has vamps, but they all behave? What guarantee do I have for that?"

"My word, Faith the Slayer. The community here follows the rules, unlike many of the unguided younger rabble. We enforce the rules amongst ourselves, and hide our presence, or at least our natures, from the mortals." His voice had the smoothness of a sharp blade.

She sipped at her drink, feeling the bite of it. "This is a good drink."

For a few moments, there was quiet, and Faith watched the old vampire, not looking into his eyes. If he was old enough, which he definitely felt, a man's give word used to be a really big deal. She might be able to trust him to an extent. "Actually, to be vague, I had some bad and confusing things happen to me, and I was hoping to find a place to hang around while I sort them out. Toronto seemed like a good choice, especially since this is where I ran out of bus tokens."

He was smiling. "I see no reason why you couldn't spend the holidays here, to regain your bearings. Permit me to offer you the hospitality of my home."

"That sounds nice." Faith paused, thinking about it. It actually sounded too nice. There had to be something that she was missing. "Where's the catch?"

"My child has recently left this world. While I do not know a great deal about you yet, I have the feeling that if you are around, my home will not be as silent as a tomb." He sighed, and fell silent for a moment. "The holidays are not a time to be alone."

Faith blinked, part of her knowing exactly what he meant. How many times had she wished that her holidays hadn't felt so empty? How much had she craved real company after... "You're right, the holidays aren't a good time to be alone."

"Then we shall spend them being not so alone together." His voice was smooth, soft, and somehow gave the feeling that things had just been set in stone.

Faith just hoped it wouldn't be something that she regretted.

end Not Alone.


	20. Charles Gunn and Marrow

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Charles Gunn, Marrow

disclaimer: Gunn belongs to Joss, Marrow belongs to marvel comics

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing #1021, with timelines blended and blurred - this is before Marrow joined up with the X-Men, and before Gunn met up with Angel.

Marrow tried to stay calm, tried to prevent herself from falling into blind panic. Panic would cause stupid mistakes, and Callisto couldn't afford any of those. She put her hand back on the woman's forehead, frowning at the heat of it. "The fever hasn't broken yet."

"Look what we've found... dinner and entertainment." the voice was harsh, with a feral edge that the surface dweller's probably wouldn't recognize.

Marrow turned around, glad of the bricked over window that formed the niche where Callisto rested. Nobody could grab her from behind. She pulled a bone from her arm, wincing as it grated, resisting just a little.

"What the hell?" The front man growled, his eyes a yellow and his forehead oddly ridged. He didn't look like a pretty, surface dwelling human, especially not with those sharp teeth. His companion, slightly shorter, had the same yellow eyes, sharp teeth and distorted forehead.

"I'm not going to let you hurt her." Marrow stated, feeling much calmer. This would be fighting, and she knew how to deal with a fight. It was illness that baffled her.

Lunging forward, the pair tried to overwhelm her, seeing her only as a small, presumably weak, female. They were strong, and fought with a savagery that she didn't think was quite normal for humans. They grabbed at her, snapping with their teeth as they tried to rip and tear, like animals.

Slowly, they were pushing her back. She was a better fighter than either of them, but they were stronger, and fast. Eventually, they'd wear her down, and then... Then she and Callisto would both die.

There was a slight noise, and for a moment, a sharp bit of wood tipped in metal protruded from the chest of the first one, before he crumbled into dust. That had been unexpected...

Grinning, Marrow stabbed the bone-knife into the second one's chest while he was still staring at the place where his hunting partner had been. She aimed for the heart, and hoped that bone would work as well as wood. He snarled as he disintigrated into dust.

There was a trio of humans. They were probably about her own age, each of them holding a crossbow, and dressed as if expecting trouble. "Damn, what is she? Look at those horns, man."

Marrow tried to figure out what they would do, and glared at them. "What were those... things? They turned into dust, which mutants don't do..."

"Those were vampires." The one who spoke looked calmer, and wasn't showing any fear. Unlike his companions, he had no hair, and there was a fading bruise around his left eye. "So, you're a mutant then? Not a demon?"

"Yes." She replied, still watching them warily. She didn't think she could block or dodge crossbow bolts if they tried to attack.

"Okay then." He nodded, and waved his companions on down the alley. "I can handle this, you guys keep up the patrol. Tell Allanna that I might be delayed."

As they left, he looked towards her, peering as if trying to look into the shadows behind her. "Why didn't you try to run?"

"Because Callisto can't." Her words were softer, as she found herself hoping against reason that he might be able to help. It was a stupid hope, hadn't everything else in her life taught her that humans didn't care? "She's got a fever, and she's pretty weak right now."

The crossbow lowered, and he moved closer. "I suppose she probably hasn't seen a doctor."

"Do you know any doctor that would help the likes of us? Mutants, people who can't blend with you pretty surface dwellers, and don't have any money..." She knew that she sounded bitter.

"I'm not a rich guy myself. I'm just Gunn." He moved closer, crouching to take a closer look at Callisto. His fingers hovered over some of her scars, and he shook his head. "You've had a rough life, lady. I don't know any doctors, but we've got some antibiotics back at the warehouse. They might help."

"Why?" Marrow whispered, looking at him in puzzlement. 'Why would you help us?"

"You need it." He grinned, and shook his head. "Besides, with those scars, she probably knows a bit about fighting, and I know you do. If I help you two now, you might be willing to help us hunt and kill the vamps."

"Instead of your people?" She asked, gathering up Callisto in her arms. She felt too light, as if the fever was burning her body away.

"In addition. There's not a lot of us, and we're still trying to learn some of this stuff. We could use all the help we can get, especially if you can help us learn to get it done better." He shook his head, looking sad. "You were holding them back, a lot better than we could, one against two. We could use that sort of skill."

"Even if I have horns?" She asked, glancing from the corner of her eye.

"Even with the horns, as long as you don't try to eat anybody." He glanced around the alley, clearly looking for any additional threats, and froze. "Umm... you've got a bone... sticking out of your back just under your shoulder."

"They grow that way." Her words were sharp.

"Oh. So it's not an injury from the fight." He was quiet, leading her towards a battered truck. "So, the knife you were fighting with?"

"Another bone. I'm a mutant, I grow extra bones. Some of them are sharp." She didn't quite look at him, bracing herself for the scorn or fear.

He was silent for a few moments, opening the passenger side door for her. "If it works... besides, it's not like anything I could say about it would change anything anyhow."

"Just like that?" She looked at him, feeling utterly baffled and surprised. He wasn't reacting like she'd expected at all.

"Well, it'll take me a while to get used to it. It's a bit weird. But... We're desperate. Most of us, we haven't got anywhere to go but the street, and there's those things out there trying to eat us. We have to fight back, and if you can help us, having horns and bones growing where we don't is not going to be a big problem." From the way he spoke, it sounded as if he felt that things would be okay by sheer determination.

She looked at Callisto, seeing the sweat forming on her forehead, and sighed. "I just hope we can help her. She's... she's the only family I have."

"We'll do what we can." He promised. "What do I call you?"

Marrow nodded, and hoped. She hoped that they could help Callisto, hoped that this apparent acceptance might be real. Even if he did want them to help in his fight, it would be a place to stay, a place to belong. "I'm Marrow."

end Fighting in the Streets.


	21. Ethan Rayne and Prince Charming

author: Lucinda

nothing worse than Shrek 2 contained.

main characters: Ethan Rayne, Prince Charming

disclaimers: Ethan Rayne was created by Joss, 'Prince Charming' and the Fairy Godmother comes from Shrek 2.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings - will anyone else even want it?

notes: TtH FfA pairing # 1608. Alice is the Fairy Godmother, in case that's not obvious.

Ethan Rayne winced as the envelope fell onto the table. It was pink, with a faintly pearly cast, and there was the faint smell of roses.

Not Alice again...

He flipped it over to see the address, hoping that he was mistaken. Hoping that he'd just got something for the neighbor, or some solicitation for funds supporting some sort of women's health problem.

He recognized her handwriting immediately, and sank back into his chair with dismay. Glaring at the letter, he grumbled, "I divorced you. I let you keep everything, including the boy, just to get away, and now, you're sending me things. What could you possibly want from me now?"

The envelope was silent.

"Bloody Hell..." Picking up the envelope, he tore it open, and an elegant card, naturally pink, fell into his hand, along with a pinch of golden glitter. Opening it, he read, 'You are cordially invited to the wedding of Prince Charming and Princess Fiona...'

Something else dropped out, a warped looking copper ring. It looked clumsily made, and it wasn't until he picked it up that he felt the magic. "Oh b..."

The world twisted, and he found himself dropped into an overstuffed leather chair. A brawny blond man who couldn't possibly be older than twenty stared back at him, and then smiled. "It's good to see you again, Dad."

"Char." Ethan sighed, wondering where his son could possibly have gotten that much height or muscle. The muscle certainly didn't come from him, and that height couldn't have come from Alice. The pink invitation was still in his hand. "What's this about you getting married?"

"Mother's idea." He sat in another chair with a small pout. "Nothing else will do except that I marry a princess, so that she will become a queen-mother. She's been sending me out to fight dragons, storm castles, and try to break spells since my voice changed."

"Should I ask how she knows where all these troubled ladies are?" Ethan muttered, having a few guesses. After all, Alice had learned quite a few tricks from him, and she was a devious woman.

"Want to guess what Mother decided to do as a career? She got tired of being the good witch of the woods." Char's words made it clear that he didn't think a quick answer would be quite enough.

"Not enough shoes. The blasted woman has an obsession with shoes. Even when she only had three dresses, she had a dozen pairs of shoes, and only one pair of them was practical for the cottage." Ethan remembered, and sighed. Then, he remembered the book of Grimm's Fairy tales that he'd managed to leave behind. Dozens of stories of 'charming princes' and them marrying princesses and going off to live happily ever after. "She didn't..."

"Fairy Godmother." Char replied glumly. "Now I'm supposed to marry some princess that got charmed into being an ogre half the time."

"An ogre? Why?" Ethan blinked, wondering just what sort of reasoning had been behind that.

"You'd have to ask mother. But it gets worse." Char shook his head, and in a sullen voice admitted, "I'm not good at thinking through problems. Mother keeps insisting on doing all the thinking, and I just go out and kill things."

"I can think for the both of us." Ethan insisted, and waved his hand. "Go on, explain how it gets more complicated."

"I got to the castle on a high mountain, surrounded by a lake of lava and guarded by a dragon. Then, a wolf in a granny dress told me that Princess Fiona had already been rescued and was away on her honeymoon. Now, Mother's furious and wants to split Fionna up from her husband so that I can marry her. She's sent an invitation to get Fionna and whatever his name is to come here."

"Do you want to help Alice in this mad scheme?" Ethan asked, an idea starting in the depths of his mind. If he could pull this off, everyone would be furious, but oh, it would surely be worth it. "Do you want to marry a princess?"

For a moment, Char looked thoughtful. "Actually, I have a lot more fun going out and killing things. I wouldn't want to do nothing but stay in a castle and listen to petitions. I'd like it even less to live in a castle where Mother listened to the petitions and made all the decisions."

"I have a solution then." Ethan grinned, and leaned forward. "You can't marry Fiona if you aren't here."

"She'd find me." Char replied, and stared at his boots. "I wish I knew how you'd managed to evade her all these years."

"Simple matter of living in a different world. Come back with me. You're old enough to not need a parent to watch over you by the local laws, come with me, you can go kill demons, not marry a princess, and your mother will be furious." Ethan made the offer.

"It sounds like a good plan." Char grinned, and stood up. "So, what do we tell the records gnome?"

Ethan grinned, and sauntered down the hall, recognizing the overworked gnome. "He's still here? Blinky, old chap. It's been years."

Blinky looked up, and gave a small, tired smile. "Wizard Ethan. Come to visit your son? The Godmother... Alice, is out."

"Now, why would I need to see her?" Ethan joked. "No, I'm taking my boy here with me, and there's this young woman that I want to introduce him to. They'd be perfect."

Turning away from Blinky's desk, Ethan asked, "Now where are her assorted magical supplies?"

"This way." Char started towards a set of double doors marked 'authorized personnel only' and started walking. "What's this about a girl?"

"She's not a princess, she's something called a Slayer. It means that she goes out and fights monsters."

"Really? Is she looking for a charming prince?" Char sounded suspicious but also curious. "What does she look like?"

"Oh, about another your mother's height, a skinny blond with hazel eyes and a nice..." Ethan paused, remembering his several encounters with the Slayer. "A very nice sword. She's also got a bit of a temper."

"Is this matchmaking?" Char asked as they reached the doors.

"Oh, I don't know if the two of you will hit it off or not, and I'm not worried about that. But Alice will be furious, Rupert will have a conniption, and... oh, the chaos and confusion that will result!" Ethan could see it now.

"Will Mother be able to find us?" Char sounded like he was considering the idea.

"Doubtful. There's a serious magical interference in that place. Sunnydale isn't quite like Far, Far Away, but I think you can adjust." Ethan mused, and then glanced around the work area. "Oh, now this has changed a lot."

"Not too much for you to figure out how to get us to... where are we going? Directly to Sunnydale?" Char asked.

"Not directly, that would be inviting disaster. First we go back to my place, and then to Sunnydale. I promise it will be very different than what your mother has in mind for you." Ethan began pulling down some bottles, mixing together a few things for a quick trip home. "Hold on tight and try not to pass out."

Magic swirled around them both, and Alice's workshop in the land of Far, Far Away vanished.

"I've got a whole new world to introduce you to, Char my boy." Ethan grinned in anticipation. Sunnydale wouldn't know what hit it.

end Marriage Derailed.


	22. Lorne and Minerva McGonnagal

Author: Lucinda

Rating: pg/pg13?

Main characters: Lorne (Krevelorneswath of the Dethwok Clan) and Minerva McGonnagal

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody or anything that you recognize

Distribution: if I said you could have an earlier AtS/HP, sure. Otherwise ask.

Notes: for TtH FfA.

Minerva couldn't believe the rumors that she was hearing. They'd been persisting since mid fall, and were only getting more wild. Variations on some sort of dance club, or perhaps a place for ameteur singing, recently added to Diagon Alley, or some rumors said to Knock-Turn Alley, or possibly both. The whole story sounded ridiculous, even before the whispers about demons and muggles both being there.

Maybe she should just go prove how silly the whole thing was by checking that there were, in fact, no new clubs for singing or dancing anywhere along Diagon Alley? It wasn't as if she had anything else to be doing over the weekend.

She picked up a heavier cloak, and made her way off the school grounds, so that she could apparate to Diagon Alley. Maybe she could check and see if there were any new good Transfiguration books over at Flourish and Botts, since she was already in the area? Filing that away to think about later, Minerva started walking along the alley, figuring the best way would be to walk the whole distance, looking for any new shops, or if any old ones had changed hands.

There was a new building, now positioned between Madam Malkin's and one of the several shoes and boots stores. There was a simple wooden sign, reading 'the new home of Caritas', and a smaller sign near the door, reading 'no cover charge'.

Reading over them, she sniffed. Apparently, there was a new club of some sort. But that certainly didn't mean there would be muggles or demons, and nothing about a connection to Knock-turn Alley. Reaching out, she opened the door, stepping firmly inside.

Inside was quiet, the almost sad emptiness of a building intended to have many people that only had a few inside at the moment. A tall figure across the room pushed a broom, and someone in a corner was fiddling with what looked like a mass of plastic, metal and wires. There was someone near the bar, dressed in a floor length dark red robe, with a pattern of golden musical notes dancing around the hems.

Moving towards the robed man, she called out, "Pardon, but where may I find the proprieter?"

He turned around, a smile on his green face, red eyes twinkling. "That would be me. How can I help you?"

Minerva blinked, feeling as if the room was dancing, and she reached out, holding a nearby chair to steady herself. "Oh my…"

"You look a bit unsteady, could I offer you something? Water, cider, eggnog… one of those Butterbeers?" He sounded concerned. "A lot of you wizarding types seem a bit easily excitable."

"Easily excitable?" She repeated, eyes narrowing as she tried to place the man. Clearly, he wasn't human, but he didn't quite match any of the non-human races or anything that she could recall from her long ago days in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "I discover that there is in fact some sort of new club, run by someone who isn't human, and you think this is easily excitable? I think I'll take a butterbeer, actually."

He stepped behind the bar, pulling out a mug and a bottle, and pouring her a butterbeer. "Well, it's not as if I'm particularly dangerous. And I've got some solid non-violence wards and charms on the building, from several different sources. I want a nice, fun place. England sounded a lot quieter than where I was before."

"Quieter? With You-Know-Who on the rise again, you think England is quieter? She sipped at her drink, starting to wonder about this person's sanity.

"Compared to LA, with the chaos resulting from every bad guy out there trying to get rid of Angel and his people, and things getting blasted to bits? Absolutely, kitten." He smiled, and produced his own drink, something that she didn't recognize. "And he's just a wizard, your Aurors should be able to deal with him and his minions just fine."

Slowly, she sipped at her butterbeer again, considering his words. "What sort of place did you intend this to be?"

"Some dancing, karaoke, readings if they want it…" He smiled. "If you sing, I can get a glimpse of your future."

"Really?" She wondered how that connected to divination.

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "There's not a lot of singing back home. It's a miserable place all the time. But here, you've got holidays, with singing, and great food, and decorations that only come from trees."

Minerva decided not to ask. "So, mister… I don't think I caught your name."

"Call me Lorne." He smiled, leaning against the bar. "And what's your name, kitten?"

"Minerva McGonnagal." She could feel herself smiling back. Maybe the holidays wouldn't be quite so lonely this year…

He nodded. "Alright, Minerva. Feel free to drop in anytime, singing is completely optional."

"I think I might." She settled in the chair, and they found themselves discussing holiday carols for several enjoyable hours.

End Holiday Songs.


	23. Xander Harris and Erika

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Xander Harris, Erika

disclaimer: I don't own them. Xander was created by Joss, Erika is from the movie Underworld.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings - or by request

notes: AU post s6, post Underworld the Movie.

As Xander stretched, enjoying the caress of silken sheets over his body, he sighed. It was starting to look like maybe he owed Buffy an apology after spending so many years teasing her about dating vamps.

"Room service should have something sent up in a few minutes." Erika's voice was soft, and she smiled at him as she settled on the edge of the bed. "You're probably starving after last night."

Xander could feel himself blushing as he studied his knuckles. "Yeah, well... I couldn't just let that guy rip you apart. It's just not cool behavior, even from a werewolf."

"Most people would have run screaming at that point, not shot him." She leaned closer, her fingers trailing over his leg, only the thin silk sheet separating their flesh. "And the fact that you just happened to have silver bullets... You have no idea how grateful I am for that, Xander."

In as serious a voice as he could manage with her hand resting on his thigh, Xander spoke. "You should never, ever run screaming from a shifted werewolf. It catches their attention and makes them think you're dinner."

"I would have been dinner." Erika shuddered. "I thought we were both going to be dinner, after you fell on that patch of ice."

"It's a legacy of my interestingly spent youth - if I'm still conscious, I can try my best to get the nasty." Xander shrugged, feeling glad that she wasn't staring at all the scars he'd picked up in Sunnydale and after.

Erika brushed her hand over his cheek, and sighed. "Your eyes look so old for someone so young."

"What, eyes that have seen this much horrible stuff should belong to a centuries old guy? Maybe a vampire?" Xander shrugged, considering the idea. "I grew up on a Hellmouth, I think that's more than enough."

Erika gasped, and looked over him once more. "You didn't just live there, you fought there. Your body tells me that. Among other things."

For a moment, he wasn't certain if she was going to kiss him or pounce on him, and he wasn't to certain either one would be a bad thing. But it was a definite shock when there was a knock at the door, and a muffled call of 'Room service.'

Erika came back with a tray of food, and tucked a lock of her blond hair behind her ear. "So, what sort of dating policy did the Hellmouth leave you with? Did you swear off older women?"

Xander managed not to laugh as he considered his history. "No, I never swore off older women. Actually, every single woman that I ever dated was at least a little older, and while I had a thing for Buffy, who's a couple months younger, she never really returned my interest. What it did leave me with was the firm idea that virginity can be lethal, sex can be dangerous, and it's best to make quite certain if the nights activities are going to end up with public nudity and or death.""

"But I haven't even done anything threatening!" Erika protested, and then her cheeks turned faintly pink. "Umm..."

Xander raised one eyebrow. "Actually, that was some of the women in my past."

"Remind me to ask about that later..." Erika murmured, settling herself beside him on the bed. "So, have you ever dated a vampire?"

Considering everyone in his past, Xander frowned. "Ampata was close, and Dru wanted to turn me, but that was just because of the spell. So, technically, no, I haven't dated a vampire."

Her eyes twinkling with mischief and something else, Erika held a fistful of green leaves over his head, and leaned in to kiss him. It wasn't a little brush of lips over lips, but a deep, intense kiss that left him feeling rather breathless.

"Mistletoe." Her words were soft. "So, can I convince you to change your answer?"

"I haven't dated a vampire yet." Xander grinned. "I don't think ending up naked in your bed is quite the same thing, and that's just because the werewolf bled all over me, combined with the muck under the ice patch."

"Should I say, can I convince you that dating a vampire might be worth it?" She kissed him again.

"Wow..." Xander felt rather dazed, and half convinced that all of this was just a really interesting dream. "Well, I haven't really been seeing anyone yet, and I've always had a fondness for dangerous blonds..."

"Or we could skip straight to the fun and games." Erika whispered, kissing him again.

"I guess maybe I do get what I wanted for Christmas." Xander murmured.

"Oh?" One eyebrow rose, and she leaned closer. "What did you ask for?"

"A pretty girl that wouldn't run away from the chaos of my life, and wouldn't try to push me out of the fights, and wouldn't ask me for advice on what to get her girlfriend for solstice." Xander replied quickly.

Erika giggled, and slid her arms around him. "Okay. You can have me."

end Just What I Wanted.


	24. Kendra and Remy LeBeau

Author: Lucinda

Rating: pg13 for some violence

Main Characters: Kendra, Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to either of them.

Distribution: if you have permission for a previous BtVS/X-Men ficlet, sure. Otherwise please ask first.

Notes: pre-X-men days for Remy, pre-Becoming for BtVS. Pairing 219 for TtH FfA.

He hadn't planned for anything eventful to happen. He'd just wanted a quiet trip away from N'awlins and family arguments, and the growing list of responsibilities that he was supposed to have among the Guild. Just a quiet day on the mostly empty beach of a small island in quiet, peaceful, scenic nowhere.

Remy Lebeau should have known better.

Why should he have a quiet day now, when he'd never managed to have an uneventful day in his previous seventeen years of life was a mystery. Maybe he'd hoped that he'd run out of 'interesting times' or that the odds insisted it should happen at least once. Some fitful, foolish hope that he could have a normal life.

No, he didn't get a quiet vacation. Not after the sun had set, at least. When the first one had growled and tried to chase him, he'd thought the guy was an angry mutant, just trying to take out his frustrations at life on Remy. But then the other four had showed up, all with the same yellow eyes, weirdly heavy eyebrows and sharp teeth, and now he wasn't so sure. Besides, there was only so long that he could hold off five of these... guys with handfuls of charged sand and an abandoned metal detector. Or maybe it hadn't precisely been abandoned after all...

Another figure approached, a slender person, with no sounds heard over his own efforts to keep his attackers at bay. When the person got closer, he saw that she was actually a rather attractive woman, close to his own age. With a wooden stake?

Remy kept dodging and blocking the blows of his attackers, and blinked in surprise when the woman stabbed one of them in the back with her stake. When the guy crumbled into dust, he gaped, feeling stunned. People didn't turn to dust... A line of pain along his arm returned his attention to the remaining four, and he kept their attention as the strange woman staked the rest, one by one. Soon, she was the only other person on the beach, and she was giving him this oddly measuring look.

He tried to relax, hoping that she wouldn't try to stab him with the stake next. "T'ank you for the rescue?"

"You should not be so far from town after dark." She lowered the stake, and looked at him carefully. "The vampires try to eat the tourists."

"Vampires?" Remy blinked, and looked again at the stake, and then the disturbed sand. "I guess that explains a little..."

"You shouldn't be here." Her words were softer this time, and she sighed. "It's too cold for walking along the beach at night. What were you hoping to do?"

Remy paused, trying to find the right words to answer her. "I... guess I just needed some time to think. Maybe sort out a few thingsabout family, responsibilities, and the meaning of life."

"You should be inside, with something warm to drink." Her head tilted towards the twinkling lights of the town. "I suppose I could show you a place for coffee?"

"I would like that very much." He offered his hand, and smiled. "I'm Remy, what is your name?"

"Kendra." She glanced down, and might have been blushing. "The coffee is this way."

"Why does it feel like you're nervous about me?" Remy asked, not understanding. If five vampires weren't enough to worry Kendra, why did the idea of showing him a place for coffee make her fidget uncomfortably?

"I'm not used to talking much to people." The words were soft. "But Buffy... Someone told me that holding responsibility does not mean that there should be no enjoyment of life."

"I can help you relax an' savor a nice cup of coffee." Remy smiled, flirting just a little. "Maybe I help you figure out a few ideas for New Year's habits to pick up?"

"That might be nice." Her fingers brushed against his hand, and slowly entwined with his fingers.

end Quiet Night.


	25. Anyanka and Imhotep

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Anyanka, D'Hoffryn, Imhotep

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 1088. Set after the Mummy returns, and before the normal timeline of BtVS.

D'Hoffryn had called her to his office. Anyanka frowned as she walked, trying to think f what he could be unhappy about. Her jobs had been going well, painful vengeance granted, a few alternate worlds of chaos and confusion, some gory deaths for cheating lovers, the normal sort of thing. Unless he'd found out about the knuckle-bones games that she'd popped in on a couple times. That could get sticky...

"Anyanka, there you are." His voice was calm, almost cheerful. "I've been waiting."

The cheerfulness could mean one of two things - either he wasn't mad at her about anything, or her punishment would be so horrible that the anticipation alone was brightening his mood. Trying not to cringe, she opened the door, slipping inside. "What did you... oh."

Her words faltered as she realized that D'Hoffryn wasn't alone in his office. There was a man standing with him, apparently human, barely dressed in a wrap of thin fabric and a pair of sandals. He had some nice muscles, and a thick feeling of magic about him. Was he a spell-caster, or spell-touched? "I didn't realize that you had company."

Chuckling, D'Hoffryn pointed her to a seat. "This is Imhotep. After a long and not particularly well-thought out punishment from his people, he finally managed to do what they'd thought impossible and wound up facing the judgment of the dead. Considering the muddle that had been made of things, there was a bit of a puzzle over what to do with him."

"I was supposed to have been immortal." He whispered, fingers drumming against the arm of the chair. "And the body is not supposed to go to the courts of Anubis."

"So, I stepped in and made them an offer. If they'd just give him to me, they wouldn't have the hassle of sorting through everything." D'Hoffryn was smiling now, looking rather smug. "Now, he's one of mine."

"A new demon?" Anyanka asked, thinking that she might have figured out what was going on. Still, a bit of caution was in order, so she carefully asked, "Did you have a mentor in mind for him?"

"Indeed. Anyanka, I want you to teach Imhotep everything that he needs to know about being a Vengeance demon. He's from Old Egypt, so he should have a very good grounding in suffering and vengeance; they had some nice curses on their tombs." D'Hoffryn was still smiling, and now his fingers steepled together thoughtfully. "I think he'll do nicely for people misusing their authority. A bit of old fashioned bloody mindedness and deviousness... Yes, I think he'll do very well as one of mine."

"You will teach me what I must know?" He spoke to her, eyes dark and gleaming with unreadable emotions.

"Absolutely, Imhotep." Anyanka smiled, rising from the chair. "I think we've taken enough of D'Hoffryn's time, come with me and I'll give you the tour."

"Am I truly no longer under the jurisdiction of the court of Ra? Of the judgments of Anubis?" He followed her, his steps firm and authoritative.

"Nobody's jurisdiction but D'Hoffryn's. Oh, they're still a lot more powerful that you or I, but they don't bother us." She grinned, and tugged him after her. "Now, the way things usually work, somebody gets wronged. Then, their pain echoes, and we pick it up, and somebody goes and lurks around. They have to wish something on the one that wronged them, and then we grant it."

"How... imprecise. What if they want something boring and unimaginative, like drowning them in the river at flood season?" Imhotep asked, a faint scowl on his face.

"A lot of them will be." Anyanka sighed, and turned to look at him. "Not too many people have the vivid imaginations to think up the really unique stuff, so they stick with the traditional things, like boiling oil, unstoppable diarrhea, wasting away, perpetual impotence, parts falling off... Boring stuff. Sometimes, if they're not paying attention, you can whisper a suggestion or two, and get something a little different, but there's a lot of tedium."

"This will be my... purpose? To grant vengeance and suffering?" He looked thoughtful now, and had a tiny smile.

"Absolutely. What did you do before, when you were mortal?" She asked, feeling curious.

"I was the High Priest of Anubis and Royal Magician to the Pharaoh. It was my duty to deal with the magics of life and death." He didn't sound like he was boasting. "I was also well versed in the proper embalmment techniques and the curses for the tombs."

"Well, that should give you a good start. I was a Viking, and we didn't have that much variety in what we did magically." She conjured a couple mugs of thick ale, passing one to Imhotep. "I think this will be just fine."

Sipping cautiously at the mug, one eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

"I'd hate to have a lackluster student, but I think you'll do just fine." Her smile was not sweet, or particularly welcoming.

"I would hate to be only middling acceptable at anything that I do." He purred, leaning against the wall.

Anyanka laughed, delighted by this turn of events. "The vengeances we can wreck together..."

end Snatching Vengeance.


	26. Drusilla and Severus Snape

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Drusilla, Severus Snape

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, or you could ask.

notes: set in the Brave Snake universe. FfA pairing #168.

Severus sighed as he buttoned up his robe. "The holidays, again."

"Every year, my dragon." Drusilla giggled, sliding long white gloves over her arms. "It's like a bit circle of the seasons, going around and around in circles, except that we're never quite back where we started from."

"I know." He passed her the tall boots, wondering how long it would take before the white leather was stained with blood.

"You don't seem very happy about it." She moved closer, running cool fingers over his robes, licking over his earlobe before nipping sharply, drawing a trace of blood.

"Is there a reason to be cheerful?" He wrapped his arms around her, caressing her sleek body. "I don't sing, the trees are usually gaudy, and I have nobody to exchange gifts with. And before you ask, no, we can't eat the carolers."

"What if we tie the old man into a chair, bound by his own beard? It's long enough." She raked nails over his back, not ripping the fabric but offering teasing hints for later. "Then we could paint the halls red and blind them with the holly."

"Tempting." He smiled at the idea.

She spun away, her arms outstretched as the crimson skirt belled out around her. "I can hear the stars like little silver bells. We can go and make certain the papers are given back, and then... Oh, we can come back down here and I can make you sing."

"I don't sing, my sweet." His arms crossed as he watched her.

Her expression was far too confident as she smiled. "I didn't mean holiday songs, my dragon-childe. I meant that little noise that you make when I..."

He cut off her words with a kiss, deep and sensual. "I passed all the papers back yesterday. Why do we need to leave at all?"

"Ohhh..." She relaxed against him, and nibbled over his neck. "I guess we don't."

He would have to admit that it did turn out to be the most enjoyable holiday season that he'd ever experienced.

end Holidays in the Dungeon.


	27. Winifred Burkle and Friar Carl

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Fred Burkle, Carl (from Van Helsing)

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 337. Has some angst & mentioned character death, AU AtS post Fred's arrival.

Everything had gone crazy after that Lilah woman had decided to take a personal interest in Angel's destruction. Fred didn't know what had sparked it, or quite when the woman had become obsessed, and she couldn't really spare the time to care. Wesley was dead. Gunn and Cordelia were both in the hospital, possibly dying. Angel had gone out, growling about Lilah, and how she had to be stopped.

Fred was terrified. It was only a matter of time before Lilah's hired goons came here again, until she ended up with worse than the black eye, cracked ribs and sprained wrist that she'd got fighting off the last goon. Eventually, they'd kill her.

But she wouldn't let them.

Her plan wasn't very detailed, and it wasn't very good. She was desperate enough that it was a chance that she'd take though. Opening a portal and stepping through... Hopefully, it would be better than Pylea. Almost anything would be better than Pylea, right?

The portal opened, blue and purple and white lightnings and sparks crackling around, swirling open and sucking her inside, along with the duffel that she'd packed. Spare clothing, her other glasses, some physics textbooks, and a stack of blank notebooks to write in. And the miniature crossbow, three small axes, and a pair of daggers. This time, she'd be prepared.

There was a startled yelp as she crashed into a prickly shrub. She could also hear a rattle and click, and she just knew that a loaded crossbow was aimed at her. Hope for the best...

"Hello?" She very slowly tried to sit up, dragging her hair out of her eyes. "I'm not a threat, could you point that elsewhere?"

The man with the crossbow sort of reminded her of Angel - tall, quietly dangerous, long dark coat hiding him, and several weapons. He scared her, actually. There was another man, smaller, friendlier looking. He was dressed in a loose brown robe, and had curling lighter hair.

"Who are you?" The man moved the crossbow slightly, not quite aiming it at her. "Where did you come from?"

"Where did that clothing come from?" The other man's murmur probably wasn't supposed to be heard. Louder, he asked, "Are you injured?"

"Some scratches from the shrub." Fred paused, looking around. "This isn't Los Angeles... Where am I?"

"Romania." The brooding man scowled, and turned away. "Carl, figure out what to do with her."

One hand was extended, and the smaller man grinned. "I'm Carl, you'll have to excuse him, he's a bit… Moody. A hazard of his job, I suppose."

"Let me guess, he hunts and kills monsters?" She couldn't deny the resemblance to Angel in attitude and reaction. It was the only possibility that came to mind, and sort of reassured her and sort of didn't, all at the same time.

"Ahh, yes." Carl blinked, and picked up the duffel, staggering at the weight of it. "What do you have in here, rocks?"

"Some weapons, some books, spare clothing… I wanted to be prepared." Fred shrugged, and tumbled out of the shrub, gasping at the pain from her ribs. "Ohhh."

"Weapons? In there?" Carl looked doubtful. "What would fit?"

"Knives always fit." The other man muttered.

"That's Van Helsing. He's…" Carl trailed off, and shrugged. "What do you have?"

"He's sort of right. A pair of daggers, some little axes, and a miniature crossbow." Fred shrugged, and carefully rose to her feet, wincing as every muscle protested. "Oh, that hurt."

"A crossbow? In there? It must not have a very good range…" Carl muttered, his eyes taking on the excited and curious gleam that's he knew so well from her own reactions.

Fumbling, she opened the duffel and dug out the crossbow. "If I can get a clear look at it, I can shoot it. Unless I miss, of course. The range is about as good as a rifle."

"The bolts? Carl reached out, his fingers not quite touching it.

"Wooden, treated with garlic, pepper and holy water, and they splinter on impact." Fred smiled, and looked at the weapon. "They work against most demons and vampires, unless they've got some armor. Or at least, they did back home."

"She might be useful after all." Van Helsing's voice sounded slightly amused, and impressed. "Bring her along."

"What's your name?" Carl asked, holding open the duffel for her to restow the crossbow. "You will be… umm, probably a bit safer with us than alone."

"Call me Fred." She could feel herself blushing. "It's short for Winifred, but I never liked the long version…"

"Welcome to our travels, Fred." Carl's voice was warm, and so was his expression.

Maybe this would be a lot better?

End Out of the Frying Pan.


	28. Faith and Mort the Toad from XMen

Author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Faith, Mort

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings - anyone else want it?

notes: consider this a holiday 'What if?' for the universe of A Prince Among Toads.

"Hey, Faith." Mort's voice was low, slightly husky. "You weren't trying to sneak out and go patrolling on your own, were you?"

"No." Faith blinked, shifting her weight awkwardly. "I wouldn't do that."

"You have to admit that it looked a bit like that." He crawled out of the bed, his boxers riding low on his hips. In honor of the season, there was a mistletoe print over them, which had caused Faith to raise her eyebrows and Mort to blush.

"Really?" Faith grinned, leaning against the wall. "I didn't think I had to admit to anything. One of the amendments to the Constitution."

"I'm not American, I'm British." He moved closer, and one hand went to either side of her on the wall. "I never signed that constitution, and I don't think I'm bound by it."

"What are you planning?" Faith whispered, intrigued.

His lips covered hers, and his arms slid over her shoulders. The kiss didn't stop until her breathing was fast and her knees were wobbly. "I think I can persuade you not to go patrolling alone. It's much more enjoyable in bed with me."

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling mort in for another kiss.

"I think I'm persuaded."

End Kissing Toad.


	29. Willow and Javiar Vachon

author: Lucinda

rating: pg

main characters: Willow Rosenberg and Javier Vachon

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 386.

Willow shook her head, chuckling as the car pulled into a parking spot. "How did you talk me into this again?"

Her boyfriend chuckled, moving to open the door for her. "I think it had to do with that last glass of wine at Jeanette's party."

"I know I'm going to regret this." She sighed as she let him help her out of the car. "I haven't gone ice skating in a long time. Most likely I'll spend more time on my but than the skates."

Vachon laughed. "Would I let you do that?"

"Hmmm, let me think." Willow paused, pretending to think about it as she looked at him. He looked good, as always, his eyes dancing under the parking lights. "Probably."

"Maybe you'll need to keep me from falling down. Or we could just sit down together and snuggle on the benches." He lifted her hand, kissing her fingers charmingly.

Willow sighed, and leaned against him. "You know I can't stay mad at you when you give me that look."

"I like keeping you happy." He murmured, giving her a hug.

"Well, let's see if either one of us stays happy after the ice skating attempts." Willow smiled, no longer dreading things quite as much. She'd have Vachon with her, and that would keep it from being too bad.

end Ice Skating in Toronto.


	30. Oz and Harry Ozborne

author: Lucinda

rating: pg

main characters: Oz (Daniel Osborne), Harry Osborne

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine. Oz was created by Joss, Harry belongs to Marvel Entertainment.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Set shortly after S4's Wild At Heart, and during Spiderman 1. Twisting's FfA pairing # 963.

Oz sighed as he pulled in to the gas station. Everything that he'd built up in his life was on the other side of the country, in Sunnydale. His band, his school career, Willow, His family... Most of his family. Not quite all of them, though.

He had an uncle and a cousin here in New York though. He wasn't terribly close to them, but maybe, if he was lucky, he could crash there for a few days. Maybe he could be around people for a little bit as he tried to figure out where to go, what to do about the wolf. He'd tried to control it, tried to just lock himself up, but clearly, that wasn't working anymore. Not after the mess of Veruca.

Reaching into the glove box, he dropped a flashlight, a pair of knit gloves, some gas receipts, a couple napkins, some roadmaps, and finally pulled out the battered little address and telephone number book. Flipping to the section marked 'O', he scanned for Osbornes. Now he'd just have to hope he could find the place.

Something zoomed overhead, sounding almost but not quite like a jet, but not nearly big enough. Laughter echoed through the night air, the wild, near maniacal laugh that had to come from a deranged bad guy of some sort. Glancing up, he couldn't figure out which way to look, and there were buildings obstructing his view anyhow. "Huh. Wonder what that was? And where..."

The van sputtered a few times, eventually starting. Slowly, he drove away, searching for the right address, glancing periodically at the street map. It was cold and miserable, and he really hoped that Uncle Norman would be willing to let him stay for a little bit. New York was a lot colder in December than California.

Oz slowed his striped van, eventually halting before the wrought iron gates. They were open, he could have driven right inside, but he stopped, staring at the building. It wasn't an apartment like Giles had, or a little two story house like Buffy or Willow lived in. No, the only word that seemed adequate was mansion, verging on castle.

"Looks like there's room, if they'll have me." He murmured, before moving closer to the house. He just knew that his van wouldn't match anything in the garage.

He allowed the van to sputter to a halt at the closest point of the arching driveway to the main doors, and stepped out, feet landing on a thin layer of snow over the walkway. Pulling the collar of his jacket higher, he moved towards the door, trying not to shiver. With a small shrug, he rang the doorbell.

The door was opened by a frowning man in a suit. His face barely moved as flat, emotionless words emerged, "Are you expected?"

"I'm family." He didn't quite answer the question, and guessed that the man might be a butler.

"Who's at the door?" Another voice, this one sounding like a real person with emotions, called out. A young man, probably about the same age as Oz, leaned over the banister, peering downwards.

Eyeing the expensive clothing and the way that the young man's bearing proclaimed this to be his territory, Oz guessed that this must be Harry Osborne, his cousin. Besides, he smelled like family. With a small nod, he greeted him, "Harry."

"Danny? I haven't seen you in ages!" Harry grinned, rushing down the stairs. "Come in, you must be freezing! How have you been?"

Oz shrugged, and tried not to flinch as Harry gave him an enthusiastic hug. "Life's been weird."

"You're here by yourself?" Harry asked, gesturing for Oz to follow him into another room. "Can you stay for a while, or do you have to go back to the West Coast?"

"I have time." Oz murmured, not wanting to go into the details. "I'm taking a bit of a break from college, due to unexpected circumstances."

"Great." Harry beamed, and rubbed the back of his head. "Although Dad will probably take this as a time to tell me to work harder on my schoolwork."

"School's good." Oz frowned, remembering Sunnydale. There had been something strange going on at some of the dorms... "You might want to make sure you know how to watch a business, considering."

"Yeah, well..." Harry shrugged, looking both embarrassed and guilty. "Dad's in good health, I've got time."

Oz considered that, and nodded. Then, he considered all the hazards of Sunnydale, and frowned. Demons and vampires couldn't be limited to the West Coast, or to the Hellmouth, and they probably wouldn't care about Uncle Norman having lots of money. But he'd sound like a lunatic if he brought that up directly. Compromising, he cautioned, "Accidents happen."

"I suppose you have a point." Harry sighed, slumping in his chair. "But hey, it'll be good to have you around. Dad's putting in a lot of late nights recently."

"You're family." Oz tried to find the words, and looked at his hands. "I had problems, weird ones, and I had to leave. I came here because... family's supposed to be the people that when you're in trouble, you can count on them for help."

"Anything you need, Danny." Harry offered.

"A place to stay while I sort out my thoughts." Oz replied.

"Easy." Gesturing at the vast room and the rest of the mansion, Harry grinned. "I'm sure we can find you a corner to call your own. Stay, at least through the holidays."

Thinking about it, Oz nodded, not really wanting to leave just yet. There had to be somewhere that he could confine the beast, and really, who would want to be alone for the holidays?

end Family.


	31. Wesley WyndhamPrice and Mystique

Author: Lucinda

Rating: pg13

Main characters: Wesley Wyndham-Price & Mystique

Disclaimer: I don't own either of them.

Distribution: anyone want it?

Notes: Tth Ffa pairing #40

Wesley knew that his night was about to get interesting when he saw the woman. She was naked, and blue, and running towards him. Several vampires were chasing her. Whoever she was, she was quite attractive, and did he mention that she was naked?

It was far too cold for people – even lovely blue women – to be running about naked. However, he was so distracted by her being attractive, and naked, and blue that she ran right into him. The vampires were close behind, and far less enjoyable to collide with.

She was trying to fight them off, but she had no weapons, much less a good stake. And while her punches and kicks were flawlessly executed, they wouldn't hold vampires off for long. Fortunately for them both, Wesley had a stake, and could easily stake them as soon as she'd knock them down.

As the last vampire turned to dust, she looked at him, her yellow eyes full of questions and mystery. "What were they?"

"Vampires. Not very much will deter them, I'm afraid. Fire, decapitation, or a stake through the heart will kill them, as does sunlight, but…" He paused, trying not to stare and to find a tactful way to continue. "You don't appear to have the equipment with you for any of those methods. Umm… and I'm Wesley."

She chuckled, and stepped closer. "No, I didn't have a stake or a flamethrower with me."

"You… Aren't you cold?" He couldn't refrain from asking the question.

"Well, it is a bit chilly out." She was smiling at him.

"Perhaps you…" Wesley paused, trying to keep from sounding like he had blatantly amorous ulterior motives. "If you'd like, my apartment is just down the street, you could come in for some tea, or perhaps some cocoa?"

There was something sadly cynical in her gaze as she asked "Does it cost me anything?"

"Something to call you besides other than mysterious blue woman." Wesley tried to smile, wishing that he could ease the pain in her eyes.

Her smile was much less pained, and she stepped closer to him, one hand presented, at a slight angle, perfect to either shake or kiss. "Mystique."

Lifting her hand, he kissed her fingers lightly. "Well, Mystique, perhaps you'd like to come inside and warm up?"

"That might be nice." She smiled wistfully, adding "It's been a long time since I had any friendly company over the holidays."

"I'm not sure how much company I qualify as, but you're welcome to stay for a while. I don't… Nobody is expecting me anywhere for a while." He offered.

"You've been delightful company so far."

They walked to his apartment, and Wesley felt keenly aware of the lack of electrical decorations, nothing more than a small pine wreath on his door and a small nativity set on the table in his kitchen.

"I'll just star the water for tea." He murmured.

"Thank you, Wesley." Her voice was soft. "Thank you for proving that there actually are a few decent humans out there."

End Blue Shadow.


	32. Kendra and Fox Reynard: Fox\'s Game

author: Lucinda

rating: pg? Pg13?

main characters: Kendra, Fox Reynard (Gargoyles)

disclaimer: I don't own them. Kendra belongs to Joss Whedon, Fox belongs to the creators of Gargoyles (Buena Vista?)

distribution: Twisting, Mystifying Dreams, Mental Wanderings

notes: pairing #1019 for Twisting's FfA.

Kendra had been asked to stand guard over Willow as the red haired girl attempted her spell. If it worked, Angelus would be re-souled, and once more Angel. Honestly, it seemed like a great deal of work to go through when staking the vampire would have been much simpler and faster. But she was standing guard, and if any vampires attacked, she would do her best to kill them. Even if it was Angelus, or Buffy's precious Angel.

Willow had encircled herself with herbs and salt, and was starting to chant. She could feel the air changing, and it made her skin prickle. Kendra looked back towards the door, nor convinced that she'd rather not mess with magics if it could be avoided. She shivered again, realizing that this time, it was the presence of vampires, not more magic.

The door was kicked in, and a group of vampires entered the library, fanning out in an effort to either surround or intimidate her. The one in charge was an almost fragile looking dark haired woman in a blood red dress. "Kill the nasty witch. Leave the Slayer to me."

The vampire approached, one hand outstretched, crooning some little melody as she swayed. "Look at me, be in me, pretty slayer. Be in me..."

Things almost seemed to slow, and the air felt thick, warm and comforting. It would be so easy to just relax, to sink into that warmth... NO! The vampire was trying to enthrall her!

Kendra lashed out, her fist connecting to the vampire's jaw and sending her flying backwards. The vampire screamed strange words, and then hit the air above Willow's circle.

There was a flash of green light and the vampire bounced.

Snarling more words, the vampire began drawing more magical energies, making the air feel cold and almost slimy. Kendra began staking the minions, their efforts not really enough to protect them, but enough to keep her from reaching the chanting woman.

More light flared just as she stabbed at Drusilla with her stake, and everything seemed to dissolve. She couldn't see, couldn't hear, and all that she could feel was cold. She had no awareness of her body - had she become a disembodied spirit? What had that spell done?

Awareness returned in a single, dizzying moment. There were bright lights dazzling her eyes, and she could hear several high pitched whining sounds, like electronics. She was falling towards pavement, and a group of what looked like ninjas were moving towards a red haired woman in what appeared to be flexible body armor. She twisted her body so that she landed on her feet, and attacked the ninjas from behind, hoping that she'd be able to sort everything out afterwards.

From behind, she could hear a man's voice squawking something about a script, and demanding to know what was going on. The ninjas were easily dispatched, and she rather doubted that she'd broken much. Looking at the red haired woman, she asked "Where am I?"

The woman was smiling, and she looked very amused. "PackMedia studios, actually. I'd ask where you thought you were, except that I saw how you arrived. Maybe you and I should have a talk somewhere more privately?"

"That might be good." Kendra agreed, wondering where this studio was in relation to Sunnydale. She had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be quite that simple, but it would be best to get the information first.

Following the redhead away, Kendra realized that what had looked like a street was in fact a set at some sort of filming studio. That probably meant that the 'ninjas' were actors, which would explain their unimpressive fighting skills. "I hope I have not caused too much trouble."

"Not too much. We can re-shoot the scene, or change the storyline a little if need be. So, who are you, and how did you end up falling from the air back there?" She led Kendra into a little dressing room, with barely room for the two of them to sit down. "And I'm Fox."

"I am Kendra. There was an attack, and she... I think the spell that my enemy was attempting interfered with the spell that the other witch was trying, and then I was... falling." Kendra shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish that her explanation was so lacking. "I know very little about magic."

"Sometimes magic can be pretty unpredictable." Fox agreed. There was a pause, and she drummed her fingers against the make-up table, her arm reflecting as she tapped. "I have the feeling that you didn't just mean an enemy as someone who didn't like you. Maybe you could work with us. The Pack, I mean. We're sometimes a mercenary task force, dealing with unusual situations. Considering your arrival, I'd say that you definitely know how to fight."

Kendra considered the offer and some of the implications. It sounded unlikely that she would be able to get home, if this wasn't the same world. Fox wasn't panicking over the magic, but she seemed to be attempting to find a way to explain things without it, so it was something that she had some measure of experience with, but not commonly known of in the world. As for occasional mercenary work... That could mean a lot of different things, from Turakan assassins to rescue work, to kidnapping to demon hunting. And her resources were very limited. "I think I should attempt to see if I am able to get home, but your offer... I might be accepting that if I am stranded here."

"I can understand why you'd want to try to get back to where you had been, I suppose. But you're welcome to stay. I'll make a few arrangements for a temporary room, and we can take care of everything." Fox was smiling, as if everything would be perfectly fine one way or another for her.

There was something odd about this whole situation, Kendra realized. Perhaps if she could make a few quick checks... But what was the protocol for finding yourself in an alternate dimension? The handbook hadn't covered that at all. "Is there a globe, or perhaps an atlas that I could look at?"

"Of course." Fox opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a slightly battered book. Handing it towards Kendra, she continued, "It's a bit out of date, and some of the countries in Africa and Eastern Europe have changed since it was published."

Glancing at the table of contents, Kendra made a few quick checks to things that she knew were important locations from her own education. Certain towns that were demonic hot spots, or places where historical Slayers had fought key battles. Some of them were there, others were not, or had different names. There was no Sunnydale, or Trivakandi near Bangladesh, or Kratorium in Italy. All of which could only mean one thing - "This is not my world."

"Then stay with us. At least until you get well situated in this world." Fox's smile reminded Kendra an awful lot of her namesake animal.

Shaking her head, Kendra handed the book back to Fox. "I do not see any better option. So, what do I do?"

"For a start, you can help me with my workouts. I have the feeling that I could learn a lot from you." Fox smiled, holding one hand towards Kendra.

"Very well." She tried to smile, hoping that she hadn't just struck a bargain with someone close to a devil.

end Fox's Game.


	33. Drusilla and Mr Sinister: Holiday Orange

author: Lucinda

it's a BtVS and X-Men crossover, with Dru and Sinister.

main characters: Drusilla, Nathaniel Essex (Mr. Sinister from X-Men comics)

disclaimer: Drusilla was created by Joss, Sinister belongs to Marvel.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings - anyone with permission for other BtVS/X-Men fics.

notes: set in the time-period where Spike was stalking his second slayer. Written for TtH's FfA.

It was much easier to get oranges in December now than when she had been young, Drusilla reflected as she walked out of the store. They had been expensive treats then, carefully cultivated in hothouses and sold at high costs. Now? Now she simply had to find a large grocery store, and she could get one for roughly the same as a cup of coffee.

Her daddy had always given each of his little girls an orange for Christmas. Every year, until the one where he'd been killed. In her mind, it was a natural association - oranges were eaten at Christmas time. Or in that horribly sunshiny state with all the old people, the magic castle, and the big, snapping lizards.

Her Spike was elsewhere, trying to find the Slayer, to play games of hitting and bleeding, and death. One of them would be killed by it, though not tonight. Miss Edith refused to say who would win, and Drusilla wasn't quite certain if it was because Spike had insulted her, or if it was because Spike would not come home one morning. No matter, she had something else to be doing tonight, other than fussing over Spike or wondering why Miss Edith was annoyed at Spike this time.

Miss Edith had told her that her Uncle Nathan was hiding under the city. He'd been her most memorable uncle, so proper and distant in his starched white shirts and solemn black coats, always hard at work studying, learning. He had been a doctor, back when half of that was still the darkest of mysteries to the rest of the world. Uncle Nathan had only visited occasionally, and had seemed a bit baffled by his nieces, but he had never told her that she was a silly little twit. It hadn't even occurred to Dru to wonder how her uncle could still be around over a century after her own death.

Drusilla wrinkled her nose as she found the door. It lead to a flight of stairs, and the air that billowed out was thick with secrets, smothered screams, and foul scents. "Uncle Nathan, you should beat your housekeeper. She has clearly failed in her duties."

The steps went down for a very long time, and with a few turns, she found herself in a long, high tunnel, with rusting, forgotten rails going down the center of it. Smiling, Drusilla stepped onto the rails, easily balancing on one of them as she walked down the tunnel, curious about what her uncle had been doing over the last century and a half or so.

Somewhere, something liquid dripped into a pool, echoing through the dark tunnel. "Maybe I should have wrote ahead, let him know that there would be company?" She mused.

Ahead, there was pale light spilling into the tunnel, and strange chemical smells that made her nose itch. Apparently, Uncle Nathan had set up another laboratory, though she wondered if he would have a problem with the nasty rats interfering with his experiments. Perhaps he had built himself a better mousetrap? No, Uncle Nathan had been a doctor of the body, not an engineer.

She could hear his voice from the room with the pale light, murmuring softly in the arcane language of chemistry. His voice was strong and full of the passion that had always lurked underneath for his work. His back was to her as he studied a table filled with little glass dishes, and a dark coat covered his broad shoulders.

"Happy Holidays, Uncle Nathan." She spoke, her words calm, softened by memories of Christmases past.

"Drusilla?" The name was an exclamation of shock, and he spun around. His face was as pale as bone, and his eyes gleamed red, with a small red diamond marked on his forehead. "I recall being informed that you were dead."

"I brought you an orange, uncle Nathan. For Christmas." She held it out, Miss Edith clutched close to her stomach. It wouldn't do to let her fall into some strange chemical. "Or did you decided to follow the dancing spice gods of India and give up the holidays?"

"Dancing spice gods?" He frowned, and then one hand raised, fingers brushing over the mark on his forehead. "No, Drusilla, I didn't become a Hindu. I seem to recall being told that you were dead? Slaughtered along with the entire convent?"

"That..." Drusilla felt her eyes water and her lip trembled. "It was a very unpleasant and painful time. My Angelus made me his daughter, and to do that he decided that he had to kill everyone else that had a hold on my heart. No more sisters, no more mummy... I tried to run, and so he killed all the nuns. But I'm stronger now, and I can eat the pretty girls."

"Stronger, but perhaps not saner." He murmured, accepting the orange from her hand.

Drusilla looked around, and finally settled herself into a chair, perching on a few pages of careful writing. "Sanity... The whispers of the stars tell me things, what happens elsewhere and what will happen tomorrow or the year after. I can hear little clawed feet scrabbling over the tunnels, and things whimpering behind the doors. My daddy will never beat me and tell me that I belong to the devil again, though now it might be true. Poor foolish daddy, he gave me to him."

"hmmm." Uncle Nathan looked at her, his eyes cool red stones glowing in the paleness of his face. "Then what will become of all my plans?"

Drusilla glanced at him, and shook her head. "I can't make sense of everything at once. Trying makes the stars scream and then I can't do anything but writhe and scream along with them."

Her eyes fell on a folder, and a few wisps of short brown hair in a clear baggie on top of it. She reached out, and rubbed her fingers over the hair, pouting at the feel of slick plastic instead of soft hair. "Such a solemn little boy. He's the dark shadow over his sunshine yellow brother, and they shall both grow up to be tall and handsome. But they'll still be scared little boys inside, all full of fire and fear and never learning to control that which burns inside them. Silly boys. And such pretty girls they'll find, with long hair of red and green... like Christmas banners. But they'll hate you for looking over them."

As she spoke, he stood straighter, his eyes glowing like coals. "Fire? Yes, they both should have the power, but I wasn't certain what form it would take."

"The little one with the yellow hair burns like a forest fire." Drusilla pulled her fingers away, frowning as she rubbed them together. "But the other one is too serious for that, and must always travel in straight lines and obey the rules."

He shook his head, frowning at her words. "You sound more baffling than ever, Drusilla."

She smiled, and looked right into his red eyes. "My Spike tells me that I am his dark princess, and I don't have to make sense."

"Wrapped around your finger." He smiled a little. "It has been unexpected to see you again. Perhaps a cup of wassail, in honor of the season?"

"That would be splendid, Uncle Nathan." Drusilla smiled. He was just like she remembered.

end Holiday Orange.


	34. Xander Harris and Urs: Ladies Night

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Xander Harris, Urs

disclaimer: Xander was created by Joss, Urs comes from Forever Knight

distribution: any lists, Twisting, Mental Wanderings or by request.

notes: TtH FfA pairing #384, set in the summer after s3 BtVS.

Xander leaned back, trying to stretch the knot out of his back. He was starting to despise washing dishes. But he wasn't quite to the point where he'd rather 'work the front', as Suzie'd been trying to convince him to try. No thank you ma'am, Xander Harris had no intention of becoming a male stripper.

Of course, that was more because he was convinced he'd be terrible at it than his dismay at the idea of taking his clothing off while being eyed like a hunk of raw meat dangled in front of wolves. Too much like dangerous Sunnydale for his comfort, thank you. Too many times in Sunnydale, he wasn't being eyed like a figurative piece of meat, but as a piece of meat, as in future meal material. Yikes.

Resigned to the sad fact that he'd either have to wash dishes for a very long time, or strip naked in front of a crowd of wild, hopefully human women while praying that he didn't fall down or get targeted to die painfully, Xander reached for the next plate. "I'm sure some day I'll look back at this time as a quiet, safe memory."

A corner of his mind tried to imagine the sort of guy that would have thought working at a strip club was neat, or fascinating, or just a great way to pick up women. A guy like that would be... probably normal. The sort of guy that he'd expected to grow up to be before he'd ever met Buffy. The sort of guy that would have been dead many times over in Sunnydale. Reaching for another plate, he sighed. "My life sucks sometimes."

But still, sometimes he wished that he could have some of the things of a normal life. A car that... well, his car was probably pretty normal for a guy his age. A girlfriend that hadn't tried to kill anyone? More knowledge of football quarterbacks than how to recognize dead languages? Yeah... there were days that he wanted a sliver of normal.

Eventually, his shift as a dishwasher ended, and he made his way out to the front, sitting at a table with a plate of food. He wasn't quite ready to face the dismal hotel room that had been all he could afford, and the food here was better than what he'd had at school or at home in Sunnydale.

He was in a perfect position to notice the blond as she came inside. She wasn't exactly tall, but carried herself with confidence. Golden curls tumbled around shoulders left almost bare by her shirt, and she had... Curves like that could be quite a lethal package. Part of him wasn't too certain that he'd mind. She was certainly much better looking than the normal crowd of ladies here at the club. Feeling curious, Xander decided that since he wasn't planning to leave just yet, he might as well watch the blond. After all, it wasn't like it would hurt anything, or like she'd probably notice him.

Eventually, he finished his food and slowly made his way around the tables of half drunken women, stepping out into the night air. It smelled different here than Sunnydale, there was no scent of the ocean, only a sort of green smell from standing water, and the familiar scent of hot earth. Not to forget the smells of cooking food and car exhaust, of course. Somehow, it still smelled better than home. Maybe it was just the lack of the Hellmouth?

Something alerted him, as he walked towards the hotel which was only across the parking lot. He was being followed, and there was something dangerous outside with him. He wasn't sure if they were the same being or not. Hoping for the best, he tensed as he slowly turned around to see who or what was behind him.

It was the blond. The really attractive blond.

"Hey. I was wanting to ask you something." There was a trace of an accent to her voice, one that suggested that she hadn't spent all her life in California. She had a half smile and a twinkle in her eyes.

Xander wasn't sure if it was alarming or reassuring not to see some variation of dangerous, fanged monster lurking in the shadows. That probably meant that the dangerous something was the blond. With a mental shrug, he gave her a half smile in return. "What were you wondering about?"

"Why were you staring at me back there, in the club?" The half smile was back, somehow looking almost predatory. Or that could have just been Xander feeling paranoid.

"In case you hadn't noticed, "Xander offered, trying not to look either dangerous or like easy prey, and having no idea how well he was doing at it. "You're a lot more attractive than most of the women in there. I didn't think it would hurt to look."

"Thank you." The smile widened, and for a moment, she looked harmless and delighted. "If only I got compliments like that more often."

"Yeah, well..." Xander shrugged, and tried once again to see if there was any possibility of some lurking demon to explain the feeling of 'dangerous nasty nearby' that was creeping along his spine. "State of the world, I guess."

"Pity, isn't it?" Her question didn't really sound like she wanted an answer. "So, I was wondering... would you care to go with me to get something to drink? I think we can find somewhere quieter than the Fabulous Ladies' Club."

Part of Xander wanted to say no and bolt, certain now that she was some sort of predatory monster. After all, she had just asked him out on a date, and considering his past history with females... But he was only human, and she was pretty hot, so the idea of a date with her was rather tempting. What emerged was a rather awkward sounding, "Drink? Errr... Where?"

"How about my room?" She smiled, the expression purely seductive.

Xander could feel his mind shutting down as his thoughts went decidedly south. He was doomed. She was trying to pick him up. She was probably some sort of demon or maybe a vamp... She was checking him out! Oh God, was he doomed. "Sure."

With that, Xander looped his arm with the beautiful woman, and followed her to his potential doom. Damn those hormones anyhow... Maybe she was a succubus and intended to kill him by too much sex? Yeah, now that would be a way to go. "I'm Xander, what should I call you?"

"Call me Urs." She smiled, and led him away.

Xander just hoped that he wouldn't need the stake that he'd tucked into his jacket. Just because he'd left Sunnydale didn't mean there were no vamps, after all. Tonight would either be the sort of night to look back on for years, or the last night of his life… He was hoping more for lots of good memories, personally.

Kendra hadn't felt normal, and she'd been someone he would have liked to know better. Ms French the man-eating she-mantis… memorable but bad. Ampata had been fun to hang out with, but a killer in the end. Cordelia… he still didn't know how to explain that. Faith had been fascinating, and they'd had what he'd thought was a good time, until she'd thrown him out in his boxers. Buffy, who was extremely hot and not normal, saw him as one of the girls – the most painful sounding thing to ever hear. Maybe not so normal wouldn't be so bad? He could hope so, at least.

end Ladies' Night.


	35. Joyce and Charles Xavier

Author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Joyce (Before she became Mrs. Summers), Charles Xavier.

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings - anyone else want it?

notes: consider this a holiday 'What if?' for the universe of the X-men.

Joyce sank into the hard plastic chair, her hands wrapped around the mug. Teeth chattering, she grumbled, "It's freezing out there."

"So, why were you even out there?" Charles Xavier asked, smiling at her over his textbook.

"Hank and I were supposed to go for a bite to eat after practice." She sighed, and sipped the hot cocoa in her hands. "Except that practice drug on for hours, and then he went off with the guys for beer."

"Instead of going off to cozy up for a drink with you?" Charles looked shocked. "That's it, the cold has warped his mind."

Joyce just laughed. "Charles, you just might be on to something."

"Do you think we can lure you away from him for good?" Eric murmured, one hand resting on Charles's shoulder. "I'm sure that either Charles or myself could show you a much better time than some football player too busy to remember that you sat outside freezing in hopes of a few moments of his company."

Joyce raised her mug, considering Eric and Charles. There was quite a bit of speculation about them, and questions of just how close they really were. But both of them were handsome, and smart, and seemed nice to talk to.

Charles grinned, blue eyes sparkling. "Do you think we could persuade you?"

"Why gentlemen, I do believe that the pair of you are flirting with me." Joyce replied.

"Is it working?" Charles asked, walking closer to her, the book abandoned on the table.

Eyes twinkling, Joyce considered her options. She could mope over Hank, or enjoy Charles and Eric flirting with her. They probably didn't mean anything by it, but it felt a lot better than moping. Putting the cocoa down on the table, she sauntered over to the doorway. "Look, mistletoe."

Then Charles Xavier was kissing her, and Joyce didn't really think about anything else anymore.

End School Daze.


	36. Harmony Kendall and Jeanette

author: Lucinda

nothing worse than either series.

main characters: Harmony Kendall, Jeanette

disclaimers: Harmony was created by Joss, Jeanette belongs to Forever Knight

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings – by request.

notes: TtH FfA pairing # 539.

Jeanette frowned at the woman who had just entered the Raven. She was blond, dressed in something bright and colorful, and everything about her appearance proclaimed her to be a slave of fashion and addicted to suntans. There was just something that didn't quite seem right, and she couldn't place what it was. With a small shake of her head, she decided to keep an eye on the woman, maybe it would become apparent later.

The woman was drinking beers, and a circle of young men were gathering around her, clearly seeing her as attractive but not too bright, the sort who would get drunk and go home with the nearest charming face. She had seen the type for centuries, and so often, they ended up the unspoken victims of the world, used and abandoned, never finding people who would really care, and eventually coming to believe that nobody ever would.Centuries ago, she would have felt very sorry for the woman, but now, she understood that the woman should hold some responsibility for what happened to her as well. She didn't have to spend her evenings in clubs, drinking beer after beer.

Eventually, the woman rose from her table, giggling as she wobbled, and left the building, leaning on one of the young men, a particularly obnoxious lout. Jeanette could see no redeeming features to the man, and wondered just how many beers the blond had actually drank.

Something seemed wrong as they walked out the door. She couldn't quite describe it - was it the way the blond moved? Something wrong in the reflection on the inside of the window? It didn't matter, she decided that she would follow and figure it out. Glancing at her child, she murmured, "Watch the bar, would you?

Jeanette frowned as she took tot eh air. Considering that the blond was supposedly drunk, she seemed to be walking in a rather straight path. The man pulled her against the alley wall, kissing her with the single minded intensity of a man who had no intention of stopping as his hands fumbled at the blonde's blouse.

By the time Jeanette had landed in the alley, the blond had fangs deep in the man's throat, and he was making little whimpering noises as she drank.

"Maybe there is a reason for all the beer after all." Jeanette murmured, smiling just a little. Perhaps the woman wasn't quite the sad victim of society and stupidity after all. But this woman wasn't one of the regulars, and if this was what she normally did... Had anyone explained the rules to her? Did she know how to avoid the unwelcome attentions of the enforcers?

"You were in the bar." The blond spoke, staring at Jeanette as she let the lout's body fall to the ground. Her forehead was distorted into a ridge, and her eyes were a pale golden. Clearly, she was from a different bloodline than Jeanette's.

"Of course. I own it, after all." Jeanette replied with a shrug. "You will not be able to hunt like that all the time, not in this city."

"Why not?" The blond replied, not sounding even a little drunk, but definitely confused. "The Slayer's in California, not Toronto."

"The Slayer? Is that all that you were ever told to look out for?" Jeanette moved closer, frowning as she realized just how young the blond vampire actually was. Not simply how young she looked, but how young she felt - there was probably very little difference. "You haven't been taught anything, have you?"

"Avoid sunshine and crosses, holy water burns, don't kidnap the Slayer's sister, and my blondie-bear doesn't love me." The blond sniffled, and pulled out a tube of lipstick, recoloring her lips. "And I need an invitation and don't reflect, which makes it really hard to get my make-up right."

"Nothing." Jeanette moved closer as the idea tickled. "I can teach you a few things. Things that will help you to live and prosper."

"I'm never going to get old, so..." She paused, and stepped over the body. "How long have you been around?"

"I came to this continent when these nations were still colonies." Jeanette offered, not revealing her true age or influence. "I can teach you the skills and laws that will enable you to still be around in another few centuries."

"Oh, that would be great." The blond gushed, moving closer, apparently with the intention of giving Jeanette a hug. As she flung her arms around Jeanette and squeezed, she said, "I'm Harmony, and I'll be the best student that you've ever had. Maybe you can take me to Paris, and show me how things go there? Is there some sort of secret vampire club or something? A guidebook?"

As Harmony continued to chatter, Jeanette almost changed her mind. But no, if anyone needed someone to keep them out of trouble, surely Harmony was that needy person. "I am Jeanette, and you should let go now."

"Oh, of course. So, have you ever been to Paris? I mean, you sound sort of French, and I'd love to learn that accent, it sounds really neat, and you have a gorgeous dress, and..."

Jeanette was regretting this already.

end Night School.


	37. Anya and Hudson

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Anya, Hudson (Gargoyles)

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 926. AU after S3 BtVS - Anya did not go back to Sunnydale for S4.

Anya sighed, and kicked at a rock. Being mortal, being human again sucked. She was weak, fragile, powerless, and she had all these emotions and insecurities again.

"Everything's different now. The world's changed, and now I have to adjust to it. I can't just skip back to Arashmahod anymore." She pulled her jacket closer, and shivered. Looking upwards, she felt slightly relieved that the sky looked almost the same as when she'd been human the first time, back when she wasn't Anyanka, but simply Aud.

A group of winged shapes soared over, shapes that could only be gargoyles. She hadn't seen any of those since she'd been mortal...

The small group split, and pairs of them turned to go left and right, leaving one that kept moving straight, which happened to be towards where she was watching. Her uncle had always hated them, although she'd never quite understood why. Her father had just said it had to do with something when they were younger, and chuckled, but still...

Other shapes, similar but oddly stiff moved towards the lone gargoyle, their feet trailing smoke. Bright red lasers shot out, and the single gargoyle tried to dodge them. But there was only one gargoyle, and three of the robots, and he eventually tumbled downwards.

Anya gasped, and moved closer to the water, her heart racing. There was a huge splash, and she heard some colorful words, rather creative ones in old Scottish. She absently wondered if that was even anatomically possible, watching as the gargoyle pulled himself onto the dock. He had fine muscles, and was a lovely bronzish tan, with a gray beard and a scar over one eye. He looked like a very impressive old warrior, even with the laser burns on his wings.

"Hold still, I think I can work a charm to keep the robots from seeing you." She placed one hand on his shoulder, kneeling in the spreading pool of water. Closing her eyes, she whispered the works, calling on old powers to hide this brave warrior from his unworthy foes.

The robots circled overhead for a few moments, rather like vultures. Finally, they departed, heading back towards the towering skyscrapers of downtown.

"Never did I think I'd owe any sort of thanks to a Viking." His voice held a thick Scottish accent, and traces of bemusement.

"There used to be gargoyles near my home, a long time ago. They were protectors, they tried to keep us safe." Anya closed her eyes again, and tried not to shiver. "But things... The world's not the same as when I was young, and I suppose you just... you reminded me of a time when everything was simple. I knew the rules, how to stay safe. And now... It's not the same."

"What happened, lass?" His voice was gentle, and he slowly stood up, offering her a hand to her feet as well. "How did things change so much on ye?"

"It's complicated." Anya sighed, thinking about the way most people would react to her experiences. But maybe a gargoyle would be different. Maybe... "Actually, how did a Scottish gargoyle end up in New York?"

"Complicated explains that as well." He sighed, and rubbed at his head. "There was a raid by Vikings. In some of the resulting... mess, the few remnants of our clan were blamed for something we had no control over, and we were cursed to be stone until the castle rose above the clouds. Now, it sits on the top of one of yon steel mountains, and we... we're in this world, a thousand years later."

Anya sighed. "That... yes, complicated fits. I spent a thousand years granting vengeance to scorned women, and ended up... human again. I don't like it very much."

"Vengeance? Ah, one of those." He nodded, and sighed as he looked over the city. "I'm getting too old for this."

Looking over him, she smiled. Maybe he was a bit past the prime of youth, but he still looked impressive to her. And there were a few things that she'd heard whispered about the local clan when she'd been young... "You don't look that bad to me. Maybe a hot shower and something to eat would help? I've got a hotel room... nobody pays any attention to anything there."

He rubbed one shoulder, and nodded. "They couldn't hurt. Lead on, lass."

"Call me Anya." She smiled, taking his hand. Maybe she could learn the truth of some of those rumors about gargoyles...

"Well, Anya, I'm called Hudson." He offered a small smile, perhaps trying not to startle her with the occasional gargoyle fangs.

"Follow me, Hudson." She tugged him back towards her car. "And you're one of the best looking older men that I've run into in quite a while."

Judging from his shocked and intrigued expression, she just might discover the truth of some of those rumors after all. Maybe there were advantages to having a very interesting night after all.

end Remembering the Past.


	38. Richard Wilkins and Max: Brothers

author: Lucinda

rating: pg

main characters: Richard Wilkins and Max

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine. Richard Wilkins was created by Joss, Max comes from the movie Lost Boys (where he never had a last name.)

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, or you could ask.

notes: long before Lost Boys the movie, and before the BtVS series began.

"You don't have to leave, you know." Max spoke softly, not wanting their father to hear him.

"Yes I do. You know how he is, how he feels. Either we follow his way, or have nothing to do with that world. Nothing about demons, or vampires or magic." Richard shook his head, and tried to smile at his brother. "I can't give up the magic, and the idea of a whole Council of men like father..."

"That would be pretty horrible." Max agreed. "But where will you go? Santa Carla is home."

"I..." Richard shifted awkwardly, and then hefted the satchel of books. "I made a few connections, struck a few bargains. I've got plans."

"How will I explain things?" Max sighed, and looked back at the fire. "What are you going to say?"

"I have a dream, a vision." Richard smiled, and leaned against the wall. "I'm going to build a new town, a new place free of the weight of Spanish history. And I'm going to be the one running it."

Max shuddered, and looked back at his brother. "Politics?"

Richard nodded, his eyes filled with intensity. "And I'll make certain that everybody in the town answers to me."

"What about the demons and vampires?" Max asked. "What are you going to name the town?"

"It's going to be great. Consider it my New Year's resolution." Richard grinned, and glanced around. "I'm going to call it Sunnydale. You'll come visit me later, right?"

"No matter what, if I can go visit you, I will." Max vowed. "You're my brother, and we have to stick together."

seventy years later

Max pulled the coat closer around him, wanting to blend with everyone else in the winter. The cold really didn't bother him, but it brought too much attention to forgo the winter wear. He was seeking the Mayor's office in the small, cheerful looking town of Sunnydale.

Finally, he found the building, mostly brick, large enough to be impressive without crossing into something too pretentious for the size of the town. His brother had always been a stickler for the details, after all.

A few questions to a bored looking clerk and he knew exactly where to find 'His Honor the Mayor, Richard Wilkins the second.' With a smile, he tapped against the solid oak door, noticing that the polished brass nametag simply said 'Mayor Richard Wilkins,' with no mention of any numbers to follow.

"Who's there?" His brother's voice sounded cheerful, still familiar after all the years.

Smiling, he called out "It's your brother Max, and I recall promising to visit when I had a chance."

"Max!" The door pulled inwards, revealing Richard, looking only a little older. "Well, this is quite the holiday surprise. Step into my office. I've got some fresh cookies."

"Sorry, but I'll have to pass on the cookies." Max let his fangs flash, knowing that his brother would understand. After all, being the sons of a Watcher, they both knew that vampires didn't eat cookies. "I've heard a few interesting things about this town of yours."

"I've still got a long way to go for my plan." Richard sighed, and crossed something off a list on a sheet of paper. "So, have the last years been eventful for you?"

"Mmmm. The usual, I suppose. I fell in love, started courting, she got killed by a vampire, I got killed by a vampire, spent a few decades learning the rules, spent the next few removing my rivals, and now Santa Carla is mine." Max settled into a chair, and grinned. "And I've got a bookstore now."

"A bookstore?" Richard asked, looking curious.

"I always wanted one." Max smiled, looking wistful. "The basement's more than large enough to stay over if I need to, and by staying out of the direct focus, any potential rivals will rip each other apart and make it simple for me to remove them all."

"That's always a good plan." Richard nodded. "So, can you stay for a while? Maybe through New Years?"

"Of course."

end Brothers.


	39. Cordelia Chase and Sabertooth

Author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Cordelia Chase, Sabertooth

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings - anyone else want it?

notes: consider this a holiday 'What if?' for the universe of Family Tree/A Cat's Tale.

Cordelia fidgeted, hoping that this would go nicely. Then she sighed, knowing that no matter how much she hoped otherwise, things would be awkward. She was bringing Vic with her for her parents' annual Christmas party, and it was obvious that he was at least several years older than she was. And it was also pretty clear that he was a mutant.

"Why are you so nervous? You like dressing up." Vic muttered, fussing with the burgundy tie of his formal wear.

"Well, yes." Cordelia smiled, glancing over her gown. Dark green with gold beadwork along the neckline, and a slit in one side. She looked elegant and gorgeous. "I look good in formal wear. But my parents…"

"You don't think they'll approve." He made a gesture at himself, indicating the height, the claws, and his dark eyes.

"Actually, I was thinking more about trying to explain the fact that you're clearly several years older than me, and how do I make sure they don't think you're some sort of perv hunting for sweet, innocent young things?" She shook her head. "It's not going to be fun."

"You aren't that innocent." He reached out, tracing over her cheekbone. "Or don't they know that?"

"I'm going to be daddy's sweet little munchkin until I've got gray hair and wrinkles." Cordelia paused, and made a face at the image. "Wait, there's plastic surgeons and hair dye for that."

He chuckled, certain that he wouldn't have to worry about either of those things.

"You look good in the suit, try to look…" Cordelia paused, looking over him again thoughtfully. "Well, you can't do harmless. Try to look respectable and rich. It's amazing how much some people will forgive money for, and my parents fall into that category."

"I think I used to kill people like that." Vic mused, pondering his fragmentary memories. "Then I worked for Magneto."

"And now you're Willow's bodyguard. Yeah, I know. Try not to mention that, it might send them into a discussion of politics." Cordelia shuddered. "I'd rather hunt vampires."

"Me too." He sighed, and offered her his arm. "Shall we go face the party?"

"Why do I feel like you'd rather deal with a firing squad?" Cordelia could feel herself smiling as they walked towards her parent's house.

"Firing squads are easy. You charge while they're firing and rip them apart about the time they run out of bullets. It's hell on the wardrobe though." He shrugged, and then frowned. "Maybe you shouldn't try that."

She just laughed. "I'll pass. It's just a party, it won't be that bad."

Vic just raised his eyebrow. "Sunnydale, remember?"

"Oh no…" Cordelia groaned. "Okay, when some vicious killer reindeer attacks the party, you can kill it."

"Maybe this party won't be so bad after all." Vic seemed to brighten at the idea of attacking killer reindeer.

Ringing the doorbell, they entered the Chase manor.

End Chasing Christmas.


	40. Faith and David

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Faith and David

disclaimer: Faith was created by Joss, David is from Lost Boys (not sure who owns the rights to that, but it's not me.)

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings - or ask.

notes: set as an epilog to Darkened Faith. Pairing #617 for Twisting's 2004/2005 winter ficathon.

"So, what do vamps generally do for the winter holidays?" Faith asked, leaning against David.

Running his hand over her shoulder, David chuckled. "Why are you asking me? I'm not very traditional."

"Well, the Slayer version is - put on the warm coat, go patrol, see vamp, stake vamp, go home and eat something warm." Turning to straddle him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and grinned. "Things are different for me this year."

"I suppose they are." He kissed her, hands sliding down to rest on her hips. "Well, I always favored the idea of staying inside, having a bonfire, some decent wine, maybe a couple lost tourists... Just sort of a little family dinner type thing."

"A bonfire inside?" Faith arched an eyebrow, and ran her fingers through his pale hair. "Wouldn't that burn the place down?"

"No," He kissed her. "Not if inside means in a cave."

"I guess that makes sense." Faith purred as David nibbled over her neck.

"Think I can persuade you to go for my idea instead of yours?" David offered, fingers dancing under her shirt and over her spine.

Glancing upwards, Faith pushed David down on the bed, kissing him until they were both feeling breathless. Pointing upwards, she smirked. "Mistletoe."

"How did that get over our bed?" He murmured, rubbing over her hands.

"What can I say, there are a few old traditions that I like." Faith shrugged.

"Well then, let's stay in and welcome some holiday cheer."

end Darkened Holidays.


	41. Lindsey McDonald and Mina Harker

Author: Lucinda

nothing worse than the movie or series

main characters: Lindsey McDonald, Mina Harker

disclaimer: if you recognize them, they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, or by request.

notes: Twisting's FfA #786, and AU post AtS season 1.

because Imzadi pointed out - correctly - that I hadn't yet written any of these featuring Lindsey.

He'd left LA for a while, during his medical vacation. His supervisor had suggested it, mumbling something about needing the time to relax, that the last few months had been full of considerable pressures.

Only his doctor had been willing to actually be blunt about it. "You've lost your hand. The benefit is that it was a clean incision, and you shouldn't have too many side complications with the bones or nerves, but it's gone. Take a bit of time off work, let your system get over the shock and you might want to take some time in private to start adjusting to not having it there anymore."

Lindsey had mumbled something, not feeling as if there had been anything fortunate about his situation. He'd had his hand cut off by Angel, all because his department head hadn't been willing to arrange sufficient security for their stupid ritual. Part of him wondered what in hell could have been so important to go through a ritual like that to get it, but another part didn't care. He'd lost his hand for that plan, he didn't want to know.

Slowly, he turned the glass of beer around on the bar. Everything took longer, assuming that it was even something that he could manage with only one hand. "This is miserable."

Glancing around, he felt somehow worse when he realized that there was a vast area of emptiness around him. Apparently nobody wanted to sit by a cripple.

"You look like you could use someone to listen." A woman's voice, with a faint British accent, upper class, educated and well traveled.

He didn't even look up from his beer. "I doubt that you'd want to hear it. That it would even make sense if I tried."

"Really?" There was a subtle rebuke in her voice. "You don't know enough about me to know what I would or wouldn't understand."

"Right." He looked up from the beer, blinking as he found himself facing an attractive and dignified red haired lady. Her hair had been twisted up, and she wore an outfit that he could only call elegant. "I'm Lindsey McDonald, and I'm a lawyer at Wolfram and Hart. Still care?"

"Wolfram and Hart?" There was a faint expression of disdain. "I used to have some of them handle my American legal matters, but there was a change in management, and I had a few objections to their new staff. I decided to take my business elsewhere."

"Quite understandable, Ms... I didn't catch your name." Lindsey offered a weary smile. "At the moment, I'm less than thrilled with the management as well, considering that it was a few of their decisions that resulted in my accident." He lifted his arm in explanation, the lack of hand quite apparent.

"Mina Harker." She had a small smile. "Why don't you walk with me, you can explain more about this. I hadn't been aware of any internal policies that would lead to the accidental maiming of their own employees."

For a moment, Lindsey wanted nothing more than to stay right where he was, attempting to drown his sorrows in bitter beer. Then sense reasserted itself. Wallow in self pity, or go walking with a beautiful woman? He stood up, and offered her his arm. "I can't think of anything better to do with my time."

With a smile, she tucked one hand over his arm, and they left the bar. Lindsey frowned slightly as he realized that her hand was somewhat cool. Granted, there were many humans with cold hands, and a great many nonhumans who weren't immediately dangerous, but it might be something to think about. "So, Ms. Harker, how long ago did you relocate your American accounts?"

"Perhaps twenty years, I think. I disliked the policies of Mr. Holland." She gave a small shrug, as if unconcerned. "I thought that he seemed more concerned with speed and profit than responsibility or integrity."

"I was involved in one of his projects." Lindsey growled. "I don't know what it was that he was so set on getting, but I lost my hand over it."

"You notice that he's never the one at risk himself." Her dry comment hinted at interesting stories.

"Yeah." He sighed, and glanced at her. "So, how long did you have your accounts at Wolfram and Hart?"

"Perhaps forty years, approximately. Someone I knew spoke highly of your country, and I decided to see if he was correct, or simply biased." She gave a small smile. "I don't know if he would have liked what the country or the world has become."

Lindsey blinked at that. She certainly didn't look that old, which meant that she couldn't be a normal human, even one with poor circulation resulting in cold hands. "Somedays I'm not too certain I like what sort of world this is."

"Mister McDonald, I have an offer for you." She stopped, turning to face him.

"I'm flattered." He tried to give her his best charming smile.

From the faint pinkish cast that crept onto her cheeks and the small smile, he must have succeeded. "I meant that I find myself in a situation where having a barrister on retainer might be very useful, and someone who already has experience with things that are a bit... extraordinary would be a benefit."

"Am I allowed to ask what sort of situation you mean?" He murmured, reaching over to touch her fingers lightly. "Or would I need to sign a non-disclosure agreement first?"

Chuckling, she shook her head. "I'm simply trying to recreate something similar to a group that I once participated in. Sadly, my original associates have passed away, but I'm reasonably certain that I can gather a group of equally talented and unique individuals, and find worthwhile things to occupy our time. One thing that I discovered the first time was that a talented barrister could be very useful, as could a trustworthy official well placed in the government. Not discovering any sufficiently trustworthy officials, I'm searching for a talented legal advisor. It would be a full time job, and I'm fairly certain that the hours would be irregular and the pay probably less that Wolfram and Hart could offer."

Lindsey chuckled as he considered her words. She had described her search as for a talented lawyer, not a trustworthy one. "You wouldn't be afraid of your lawyer causing more problems?"

Something dark and dangerous flickered across her eyes. "I assure you, I know how to remove problems. What I want is someone to help prevent some from ever cropping up."

He gave her a small nod, acknowledging the warning that neither of them felt any need to bluntly spell out. "When could I start, Ms. Harker?"

"Immediately." She smiled, and gestured towards a sleek, elegant car that had to date back almost to the turn of the century. "I can explain more at my current abode, if you'd accompany me?"

Lindsey smiled, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, while a new challenge ha just been tossed into his lap. "I'd be delighted."

end Opportunities.


	42. Oz and Rachel Summers

author: Lucinda

relatively harmless, nothing worse than the series or comics.

main characters: Oz, Rachel Summers

disclaimer: Oz was created by Joss, Rachel (Phoenix) was created by Marvel Comics.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings, Luba if she wants it.

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 933. Uses the Rachel from the first Excalibur series - Rachel Summers, Phoenix from the future.

Included is the drabble written in response to Jinni's Wardrobe Malfunction drabble challenge. Set post Wild at Heart (S4 BtVS), and around issue 2-ish of Excalibur (before they moved to the Lighthouse).

Oz walked along the street, taking in the sights of London. He'd been told that the nightlife could get pretty intense, and was hoping to find out if the rumor was true. Then, he heard a strange whistling sound, and a gorgeous red haired woman in some tiny bits of leather clothing fell from the sky, knocking him to the sidewalk.

In the struggle to regain more vertical positions, her little leather top… didn't come quite as vertical as the rest of her. Oz sucked in a breath, partly out of pure appreciation of the view, and partly out of surprise. "Your shirt…"

She blinked her eyes, green with a sheen of fire over them, and glanced down. "Well, that should teach me to leave the jacket home."

"Rachel! Now is not the time to flirt!" A muscular man bellowed from the air.

Oz glanced at the flying man in some sort of tight costume that resembled the British flag, and then back at Rachel, who was now in some tight fitting body covering red leather outfit with spikes, wisps of fire around her body as she lifted into the air on wings of flame.

Oz shook his head. "Weird."

end Falling Redheads.

Oz settled against the tree, thinking about the past week. His efforts to find an expert on werewolves had failed. He hadn't even been able to find a Watcher, though he was certain that there had to be some in the area. If Giles could be as far away as California, there had to be a lot of them bouncing around the British Isles.

Closing his eyes, Oz tried to relax. He couldn't let this stress him out too much, a few of the old books that he'd been able to look through in Sunnydale had suggested that strong emotions could make him change at other times, regardless of the moon. Last thing that he needed was to stress so much about not finding anyone to help him with the werewolf thing that he turned into one right here in the park. Maybe if he just listened to the kids playing games, it would help.

He wasn't certain how long he'd sat there, eyes closed as he half meditated, but it was the scent that caught his attentions. The woman smelled like fire.

Opening his eyes, he blinked, recognizing the redhead that stood maybe ten feet from him. Her hair was short, as was the red leather dress that she was wrapped in. Knee high boots with high heels made her look even taller, and there was something familiar about her... The scent of fire without smoke finally let him connect the clues instead of just staring at long legs and mind numbing curves.

This was the woman who'd fallen on him. The one who had surrounded herself in fire, completely changed her outfit and flown off.

"See something interesting?" Her voice had the almost flatness of someone trying to keep their emotions in line.

"Yeah." Oz hoped that he wasn't about to be scorched. Maybe it would be best to offer a bit of an explanation, in an effort to head off great pain? "You bumped into me last week, but I didn't catch your name."

"I what?" She turned, and for a moment, fire seemed to flicker in her eyes. Frowning, she looked over him, trying to see if he was at all familiar. "Oh, I landed on you, didn't, I?"

He simply nodded, uncertain if there would be any safe words.

"And you aren't backing away?" She had a small smile, as if she contemplated something fascinating. "There's something different about you..."

Oz could feel himself smiling, certain that she didn't know the half of what was different about him. "American?"

"Yes. I grew up in New England. You're more... hmm, West Coast I think." She took a few steps towards him, and frowned.

"California." Oz felt something, like a little tickle at the base of his skull. Puzzled, he reached back, hoping that nothing had crawled into his hair, though some scraps of bark would be tolerable. "You flew away."

"I'm a mutant." Her arms crossed, as if she was daring him to make an issue of it.

Oz shrugged, having certainly seen a lot worse than flying gorgeous redheads in tight leather. "I'm a guitarist."

She blinked, as if that was completely unlike any response that she'd been prepared for. "A Californian guitarist?"

"My name's Oz." He smiled, wondering if she was actually getting flustered.

"I'm Rachel." The words slipped out, as if from habit.

For a few minutes, there was silence. She stood there, looking at him in puzzlement, and he leaned against the tree, watching her watch him. It wasn't that bad of a situation to find himself in, certainly better than some.

"Would you like to go with me for some dinner?" She offered, smiling hesitantly.

"That sounds good. Know anywhere good?" Oz stood up, brushing at the bits of grass and leaves on his pants.

"Actually, I do know a few good places." She tilted her head, and held out her hand. "Come with me, and I'll show you around a little."

He probably wasn't supposed to hear the soft words that she murmured. "It's not like I need to be afraid, and life can be too short not to live a little."

He wondered if Rachel believed in werewolves.

end Standing Redheads.


	43. Cordelia Chase and MJ Watson

author: Lucinda

contains nothing worse than early BtVS or the Spiderman movies

main characters: Cordelia Chase and Mary Jane Watson

disclaimer: Cordelia was created by Joss, Mary Jane belongs to Marvel.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, or by request.

notes: Twisting's FfA # 768. What if Cordelia hadn't gone to LA to try to become an actress, but instead had gone to New York? Set during Spiderman movie #1.

Cordelia sighed as she stared at the pattern of water stains on the ceiling. "This is not where I saw myself ending up when I left home."

"It's a lot harder than you expect. Harder than I expected, anyhow." Her roommate collapsed onto the worn chair, and blew a puff of air towards her red hair, trying to keep it out of her eyes. "On the bright side, my family didn't come here with me."

"Ah, one of those situations." Cordelia sighed, thinking back to Sunnydale, and the lives of some of the people that she'd known. Her parents hadn't been precisely problems, but... Aura's mom with her trampy ways, or Xander's dad. She closed her eyes and took a moment to be glad that she hadn't seen any vampires yet, though she still carried a stake in her large purse and diluted her perfume with holy water. Not seeing any was no reason to become completely careless, right?

"It's just... yeah." MJ sighed, and rubbed at her ankles. "So I came here, thinking that I could become a great actress. That it would be so simple, just audition, rehearse a few times, and poof, instant success."

"Funny how the people suggesting careers never mention that it'll be you and a hundred other desperate girls, or that half the casting directors will want you to let them screw you in return for a chance." Cordelia sighed, remembering the urge to slap the last guy who'd made that suggestion. "I didn't come here to become any variation of prostitute, not even for art."

"Ouch. I keep running into people who tell me that I either need bigger breasts or blonder hair." Her tone was full of tired sympathy.

Glancing over at MJ, Cordelia exclaimed, "What's wrong with your breasts? They look pretty good to me."

"Umm... thanks, I think." MJ blinked, looking a bit surprised.

Cordelia dropped her palm over her face. "Relax, I'm not hitting on you. But they look just fine. Better than Cheryl's, and she got hers done for her sweet sixteen birthday present from her parents."

"Sometimes, I just wish that everything was simple again." MJ muttered, glancing at the window, clearly not thinking about the clear view of another tired brick building.

Cordelia flinched a little at the word 'wish', but she knew what MJ meant. "The way things used to be simple. You knew who was where, and exactly what would go on, who would do what, and how to deal with it."

"Yeah."

"Why don't we go out? I mean, maybe we can't afford to splurge on a day at the spa, but why not jut go out, maybe dance a little?" MJ stood up, her face full of hope. "Anything to get us out of this miserable apartment for a while."

Cordelia stood up, reminding herself that she was lucky to have this miserable apartment, lousy as it was. She was lucky to have a nice roommate like MJ. "Yeah, that sounds good. I'm sure that a pair of hot girls like us can find a little fun, maybe a few guys to smile and flirt with, just a bit of an ego boost."

"As long as they don't get too pushy." MJ muttered. "Maybe I should go with those clunky boots instead of the strappy heels?"

"Only go with the strappy heels if they're sharp enough to hurt someone and solid enough not to break. I can lend you mine, if you like." Cordelia commented, thinking back to a few dates gone bad.

"You must have had a wild time back in California." MJ smiled, and they went to stare at the contents of the pitifully small closet. "Choices, choices."

Cordelia fought off a tear as she remembered how things used to be, with a closet almost as big as this tiny apartment, and rows of shoes. All before Daddy's little creative accounting came to light, naturally. "Okay, maybe there's not a lot to work with, but we can manage."

In the end, they managed to find a pair of suitable outfits. MJ, wearing the clunky boots, a tank top and a sheer overshirt, and a pair of tight jeans fussed with her hair while Cordelia adjusted the fall of the dark blue shirt that fell over her thin black skirt with the slit in the back - in case she had to run away from something - and the strappy heels, then put a coat of mascara onto her lashes. "I'm just glad the blouse covers the scar."

"It is a bit scary looking. How'd you do that anyhow?" MJ asked, grabbing her thin wallet and sliding it into her hip pocket.

"I fell through a patch of bad flooring and found a pipe. I don't recommend it for anyone else, by the way." Cordelia touched on a bit of lipstick and glanced at the mirror. The surroundings were bad, but she still had it. She could still see traces of Queen C.

They shelled out an obnoxious feeling amount for a cab, and went into a local club. It might not be the greatest, but it was at least a step above the Bronze, so Cordelia could cope. For a while, she could almost pretend that everything was good. No money problems, none of Daddy's tax fraud, just her, the music, and admiring eyes.

They left the club before any of the guys admiring her or MJ could get too drunk and obnoxious, and started to walk back towards the apartment. There was a weird noise, sort of a whistly-screech, and a funny shape went overhead, laughing.

"Talk about the creepy villain laugh." Cordelia muttered, rubbing at her arms.

"That must be the Green Goblin." MJ shuddered, and reached for Cordelia. "Let's get home, he's just... too much. I was hoping that he was gone, after the mess during the World Unity festival."

"Bad guys always come back." Cordelia grumbled, walking faster.

"Hey, gals." The voice didn't sound drunken, though he was definitely leering. A man loomed out of the shadows, taller than they were, but almost average looking for the area. He looked a bit faded, not quite well kept, and what were those reddish stains on his shirt sleeves?

"Not that kind of gals, buddy." MJ kept walking.

"If you're not selling, I guess I'll just have to take what I want, won't I?" The man's tone shifted, becoming darker, more of a menacing growl.

"I didn't even realize that those words could be growled." Cordelia whispered, searching for the stake in her purse. This was definitely a vampire, or at least a would-be rapist. He didn't look likely to just go away.

He grabbed at MJ's wrist, and the redhead screamed. Frantically, she tried to yank her hand free, eyes wide and frightened as the man stepped closer. The guy chuckled, an ugly sound full of menace.

Her hand grabbed her perfume, and Cordelia almost growled in frustration. Instead, she kept fumbling for the stake, wondering where all this other stuff had even come from. With her other hand, she held the diluted perfume towards him and sprayed.

A cloud of scent went towards the attacker, some of it settling on MJ as well. The man started to scream, and dropped MJ's hand, spinning to glare at her with jagged fangs.

Cordelia swallowed her scream, and sprayed again, aiming for his eyes. Her hand found the stake, and she grabbed it out, things spilling in her haste. She'd pick them back up later, if they survived this.

He staggered backwards, hands clutching at his eyes as he screamed again.

"What's wrong with his face? What's in that perfume of yours?" MJ gasped, rubbing at her wrist, where bruises were already forming.

With a smile, Cordelia slammed the stake into his chest. Blood spattered in the few moments before he fell to gritty ashes. Relief almost made her fall down, and Cordelia let out her breath slowly. "We're still alive, good."

"Cordelia... what just happened here?" MJ stepped closer, her face a picture of confusion.

Crouching down, Cordelia started stuffing things back into her purse, annoyed that the stake had disintegrate d along with the vampire. "I'll explain everything when we're back at the apartment, you know - inside?"

"Okay..." MJ shook her head, and knelt down, helping re-gather Cordelia's things. "I already had perfume on, I didn't need more. Except that your cloud of perfume just saved our lives."

They scurried back to the apartment, and shut the door, locking it with the knob, the deadbolt and the flimsy little chain. It was unnecessary against vampires and might not hold well against humans, but it made them feel a little safer. Cordelia walked to the couch, taking her shoes off and rotating her ankles.

"We're inside, you've just taken your shoes off, what happened? Why did his face change, and why did he... all of it." MJ struggled to find the words.

"You'll have to deal with the Cordelia version instead of the practiced speech. The world stated out a nasty place, and then people showed up and things didn't get too much better. There's all sorts of monsters and demons out there - real ones, not sick and twisted nuts. Things that eat people. You hadn't heard people saying the monsters are real because people don't want to believe, and talking about them will get you locked up, and that would probably be even more miserable than this place. We were attacked by a vampire, and the perfume... I've been diluting it with holy water. Holy water and crosses do painful things to vampires, garlic just makes them wrinkle up their noses. They don't reflect, and they can't come in unless you invite them." Cordelia tried to remember if that was everything.

MJ spoke after a few moments of silence, her eyes troubled. "Was he... he was going to kill us, wasn't he?"

"Yeah. Maybe rape us first. Vampires aren't nice guys, they're evil nasty monsters who don't reform, they don't exist for tormented centuries like in those books, and they aren't eternal advisors." Cordelia shook her head, deciding to go with the simplest version.

"So, why isn't this the horrible shock to you that it was for me?" MJ sighed.

"I got this horrible shock a few years back. It's part of the reason why I left California." Cordelia rubbed her temples, and grumbled, "I was hoping for things to be safer, simpler. This wasn't what I expected."

"I'm starting to think that life is never quite the way we expect." MJ replied.

Cordelia smiled at MJ. "At least we're not in this mess alone."

"No, we're not. I guess that helps a bit." MJ agreed.

end FfA 768 The Way It Is.


	44. Xander and Ash: Hands Down

author: Lucinda

rated Y-14, similar content to the source materials

main characters: Xander and Ash (Army of Darkness)

disclaimer: I do not own anyone from BtVS or the Evil Dead movies.

distribution: any lists that I send it to, otherwise please ask.

note: FfA #515, post Evil Dead - Ash has lost his hand, but is in the modern time, an employee at S-Mart.

The last thing that Xander had expected to hear on a stormy Tuesday was the sound of his doorbell. Actually, on most Tuesdays, he'd already be at work, but everything at the Construction site had been called to a halt due to a combination of the near-tornado-like weather and the mysterious death of the other foreman due to what the police had called an attack by wild dogs.

The storm had taken out the cable, so the only thing on the television was seventeen different patterns of static, three of which kept doing that annoying weather advisory beep that was supposed to be followed by written warnings across the bottom of the screen. As if that was any help when the whole screen was static. He sighed, considering that while this wasn't good, things could be a lot worse, and got up to go towards the door. Just in case whoever was there was unfriendly, he grabbed the crossbow.

"Xander?" The voice that came through the door was muffled but sounded vaguely familiar.

Cautiously, Xander tried to look through the little peephole, wondering if there were any vampires out under the storm clouds. It had to be thick enough to block the sunlight, but who would be out wandering around in it? "Yeah?"

"Do you remember me? It's Ash." The shaggy dark hair outside seemed familiar. "I had... it's a long story, and I'd rather come in to tell it."

Xander started to unlock the door, hoping that he wasn't making a big mistake. Granted, the crossbow was still pretty close, and he could pick it up before he opened the door, if Ash didn't force it open, but still... "I'm unlocking. This story better be good man, I haven't seen you in years."

Opening the door with the crossbow at his side, Xander stepped back in unspoken invitation. "It's been a long time, and I know that either one of our dads would be saying you need a haircut."

Ash stepped inside, edging against the wall at the sight of the crossbow. "If now's a bad time, I can go somewhere else."

"That?" Xander nodded towards the crossbow as he shut the door. "It's nothing personal. There's a lot of unsafe things around this place, and I wanted to be ready if it turned out that you'd joined that count."

"No, not really." Ash moved towards the living room, and it was only then that Xander noticed that something had happened to his hand. There was a bad replacement, looking like something from a low-budget horror movie. "It was close, and it's a pretty wild story."

"Considering this place, I think I can handle it, however wild the story gets." Xander settled onto the couch, laying the crossbow on the coffee table.

"We... there was a group of us that went on a camping trip." Ash looked as if he was reliving the ugly memories. "It was the summer cabin of this archeologist, and he'd found this book. It was all about Sumerian demons..."

Xander groaned, already knowing that this would not only get ugly but freaky. "Someone read the damn book, didn't they? You never read that stuff, only badness can come of reading old Sumerian books, there's got to be a reason why they died out."

"It got recorded, and someone thought it would be a good idea to play the record." Ash looked unhappy. "Things... happened. You can't imagine how ugly..."

"Ash, pal, this place was originally called La Boca Del Infierno, or Mouth of Hell for those of us who aren't Spanish. It's a big draw for the magical and the scary. Lots of vampires, demons, we've had a few cases of zombies, some ghosts, and more bad after effects of reading the wrong books than I ever wanted to imagine."

"Vampires and zombies?" Ash looked thoughtful, " Ever get any Deadites?"

"Not yet," Xander admitted. "How bad are they?"

"Basically, you have to hack them into bits and then burn the bits to get them to stop coming after you." Ash sank in the chair, and sighed. "Everyone else died. I lost my hand. Now their family's are convinced I had something to do with their disappearances, and I have to go to LA to talk to the only lawyer in the state willing to consider defending me. Some guy named MacDonald."

"Okay, hands down that sucks worse than anything I had to deal with here. At least I never got accused of killing the people I lost." Xander agreed, and then sighed. "It's not like you can tell the lawyer that there was a nasty Sumerian book that conjured up evil spirits that killed everybody, you'll get locked in an nut-house for the rest of your life."

"Yeah. I've got to figure out what I can tell this guy. I mean, even in LA, who's going to believe a story like that, even if every word is true?"

They just sat there as the storm raged outside, each thinking of the ways the supernatural had ruined things for them.

"So, let me tell you a not so funny story about Parent-Teacher night back a few years ago..." Xander began.

end Hands Down.


	45. Lindsey and Ash: Hands Down 2

author: Lucinda

rated Y-14, similar content to the source materials

main characters: Lindsey MacDonald and Ash (Army of Darkness)

Disclaimer: I do not own anyone from A:tS or the Evil Dead movies.

Distribution: any lists that I send it to, otherwise please ask.

Note: FfA #, post Evil Dead - Ash has lost his hand, but is in the modern time, an employee at S-Mart.

Lindsey MacDonald sighed, shuffling through the papers. "You need to help me if I'm going to help you, Mr..."

"Call me Ash. Mister makes me start looking for my father." Ashe leaned back in the chair, glancing around the office. He still wasn't certain why this guy had offered to take his case. Mr. MacDonald had claimed that the whole situation had 'caught his interest', but there had to be something more to things.

"Fine, Ash." Papers were dropped into a pile. "We've danced around official forms and questions, you're well aware of the charges. I'm going to be blunt, and I want you to be honest with me. Did you kill the other people on that camping trip?"

"No!" He jumped to his feet, slamming his fist down on the table. "I could never have... No, I did not kill them, Mr. MacDonald."

"There's not very much evidence, but it does make it pretty clear that your friends are dead." The lawyer looked over the table, and his eyes were calm and cold. "What happened in that cabin, Ash?"

"Is there something in those papers about the guy who owned the cabin?" Ash looked at the stack of papers, certain that there had to be a good deal more than just the paperwork accusing him of killing his friends and fiancée.

Shuffling the pages, the lawyer pulled out a small stack, held together by a green paperclip. "He's an archeologist, specializing in ancient Middle Eastern cultures. What does that have to do with your camping trip gone bad?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Ash muttered, sinking back into his chair. Without thinking about it, he tried to push his hair out of his eyes. It didn't work as well without the hand. "It was just... unbelievable."

"You'd be surprised just what I'd believe." The lawyer's hand started to spread out the papers, one finger working at the paperclips, trying to remove them.

With a look that mingled surprise and alarm, Lindsey MacDonald grabbed his hand, pressing it to the table with a whispered, "Stop that!"

"Problems?" Ash asked, staring at the strange sight of the man forcibly holding his hand against the table. It actually reminded him of part of that whole mess in the cabin.

"They gave me an evil hand." The muttered words were almost too faint to catch. "No, nothing too serious to deal with."

"The archeologist had a book, Mr. MacDonald. It was called the Necronomicon." Ash decide to take a chance, and toss out a few details.

"What?" The expression of shock wasn't the blankness of somebody trying to figure out how to pronounce that strange word. "Did someone... open the book?"

For a few moments, Ash debated how to answer his lawyer. Finally, he looked up, hoping that all the painful memories weren't in his eyes, and the words rasped out, "I think he had to open it in order to read it out loud for his record. We... we found the record, and it got played. That was the freakiest thing that I'd ever heard."

"Then things got ugly." The words weren't a question, and Lindsey MacDonald looked grim and worried. The hand that had been making a mess of the paperwork tapped on the table, and he could see a line around the writs where the shade of his skin changed. It didn't look quite like a tan line. Maybe there was something to that evil hand comment after all...

"Yeah." Ash didn't give any more details. "Things got ugly."

"The Necronomicon, dead friends, and collapsed bridges..." Lindsey MacDonald shook his head with a rueful sigh. "I think this is turning out to be more interesting than most of my paying cases, hands down."

"You missed the severed hand." Ash grumbled.

"No, that was an unconnected situation entirely," Lindsey insisted, glaring at his hand. "It was purely an internal affair."

"I meant mine." Ash resisted the urge to smile, because there really wasn't anything funny. Just the irony of a guy with a severed hand getting a lawyer who'd lost a hand. "It got possessed."

"A possessed, evil hand?" Lindsey blinked before looking at the fidgeting hand suspiciously. "This one isn't yours, is it?"

Peering at the hand, Ash checked for a little scar just behind the second knuckle, a lingering reminder of his neighbor's garden fence. He wasn't certain if he was relieved not to see it or creeped out that he was actually checking for his scar. "No, I don't think so."

"Good, I think." For a moment, there was an awkward silence.

"You were right though. I don't think telling a judge that the archeologist recorded a passage from the Sumerian Book of the Dead and unleashed evil demons would be a good defense." For a moment, Lindsey looked thoughtful. "We need something a little more easily believed than the truth, and I'm going to help you find that something."

end Hands Down 2.


	46. Xander and Susan Sto Helit

author: Lucinda

rated Y-14, similar content to the source materials

main characters: Xander Harris and Susan Sto Helit (Discworld)

disclaimer: I do not own anyone from BtVS or from the Discworld books, written by Terry Pratchett.

distribution: any lists that I send it to, otherwise please ask.

note: FfA # 999 takes place post s3 BtVs, after Susan has become a teacher for Discworld.

Susan watched as the young man fought a pair of vampires. Granted, she was a bit far from her normal areas, but so far, nobody had objected. Quite possibly, this might be one of the last times that she stepped through strange doors in Grandfather's house. Then again, being not precisely mortal would give her a very long time, so she wasn't certain that 'never' would be the correct word for her future plans.

These were not the sort of vampires that had emigrated from Uberwald to Ankh-Morpork. These weren't even the more vicious vampires that still dwelled in Uberwald. They were entirely different, and much less attentive to their appearances. These didn't consider life and death a game, but they were nasty, vicious hunting beasts.

This young man was hunting them. It was rather brave, in a way that was bound to get him killed. He could use a bit of instruction with weapons, his form was a bit off.

Another vampire lunged towards her, this one a bit closer to what she was used to, clad in a long pale gown. "Pretty lostling, you don't belong here. Princess will fix you."

Susan made a reaching gesture, and found herself looking at a tall egg-timer, with a thin layer of pale sand on the bottom and a much thicker layer of red over it. The nametag read 'Drusilla Elaine Westbrook', and as she held it up, the last spark of blue fell through, turning into a grain of red sand.

Well, that made things much simpler. Swinging the scythe, she removed the vampire's head and right arm, watching with a raised eyebrow as the vampire fell to dust.

The vampires that the young man had been fighting were also dust now, and he stood there, panting for breath and rubbing at his shoulder. This was the second time this week that she'd found him like this, and it was two times too many. Something should be done, and Susan Sto Helit was never one to expect others to do what she was perfectly capable of doing herself.

XANDER HARRIS, COME WITH ME. She used the voice, certain that nobody could ignore that.

Xander blinked, slowly turning to face her. "Um, you're not the guy who normally says things like that. He's a lot taller and bonier."

Considering the way that she'd found him, it wasn't that surprising that he'd heard the voice before. The surprising part was that he was still alive. "Grandfather's elsewhere. Come with me. If you're going to insist on fighting vampires, someone needs to teach you the proper way to kill things."

"There's a proper way?" Xander blinked, and took a step towards her. "Umm, I don't want to be dead, you know. Even if you are prettier than the normal guy."

"The proper way keeps you from getting hurt and gets them killed much faster. Death runs in my family, I can teach you these things, and YOU WILL LEARN."

Swallowing, Xander nodded. "Yes ma'am. How long will this take?"

"As long as necessary." She stepped around a tree stump, and blinked at a hulking shape of metal. "That's not going to go on much longer."

"You're a mechanic too?" Xander glanced at her, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I know when things are finished. Where I'm taking you, time doesn't happen." Susan let herself wonder for a moment if this was a truly good idea before pushing her concerns away. If he was hunting vampires, he'd go there soon enough anyhow. He might as well know how to do things right and make a bit of a mark on his world. "You'll be there as long as it takes, and I can bring you back in the morning."

"Time doesn't happen?" Xander frowned, looking at her. "I thought time happened everywhere?"

Looking upwards, she placed her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Moments later, a pale horse came running towards them, slowly descending as he approached, his hoof prints burning between stars. "You'll need to hold on. We aren't going to somewhere in the mortal realms."

"That's umm... quite a horse." Xander fidgeted, looking very nervous.

"His name's Binky," she replied absently. "Look, the Uncertainty Principle might work in your favor, but if you keep trying to kill vampires on determination, unpredictability and a pair of sharp sticks, we'll have to collect you sooner or later. Odds favor next Friday, actually. But since those vampires get very annoying, I'm going to give you a little help, and even the odds a bit. If you know how to kill them, how to really kill them, you might live long enough to see grandchildren."

"The pale horse of Death is named Binky?" He paused for a moment, before chuckling. "Okay, that fits in with my life. Maybe grandchildren sounds a lot farther away than next Friday, so I guess I'm getting lessons."

"What were you doing out here anyhow?" Susan asked, mounting Binky. She turned to give Xander a hand up behind her.

"I wanted to see places that weren't Sunnydale." He gave a weak smile. "Be careful what you ask for, you might get it."

Binky started to run, gradually moving upwards in blithe indifference to the ground. They started to run towards the stars, which seemed to wobble and then... Binky was running over a yard of black grass towards a black cottage. There were black trees and black flowers, and a stream with something that Xander hoped was black water.

Susan tugged him down from Binky and started to walk towards the door, which had a knocker shaped like an upside down fancy letter U. Xander gulped as she opened the door, and followed her inside, murmuring, "Why does Death's house have an umbrella stand?"

Susan shrugged, and settled the scythe into it. "I don't know, but it works nicely for weapons. Welcome to what will be home for what will probably feel like a very long time."

Xander should be much easier to teach than a whole classroom full of five year olds. She wouldn't even have to stick to human things when teaching him. He was even sort of cute, in a gangly sort of way.

end Lessons in Death.


	47. Buffy & Prince Cel: Enthralled

author: Lucinda

rated Y-14

main characters: Buffy, Cel (from the Merry Gentry novels)

disclaimer: Buffy belongs to Joss, Cel belongs to Laurell K. Hamilton, from her Merry Gentry novels.

distribution: Mental Wanderings, Twisting the Hellmouth, anyone else ask.

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 948. AU after s5 BtVS, AU after book 1 for MG novels.

Willow had brought her back from the dead because they needed a Slayer. It should have been simple to understand, simple logic that should be simple to follow.

It wasn't that simple.

She couldn't remember much from the time when she was dead, but there hadn't been any fighting. It had been quiet, like floating in the middle of warm water. Now, she was here, back in Sunnydale and all the horror that went along with it.

Giles was gone, off to England as soon as her funeral was finished. Probably some sort of final Watcher report. If she was really lucky, he'd gone to go give Travers a few sharp words and a solid right to the face.

Dawn was gone, placed in some private school that took her far from the Hellmouth, courtesy of a few words and strings pulled by Willow and Spike. Spike had left as well, lurking near Dawn to keep her safe. Buffy dully wished that she could worry more about her sister's future and safety.

Xander and Anya were still lost in wedding plans, running the Magic Box, managing a construction crew, and probably lots of sex. Apart from the misery of the Hellmouth and demons and vampires all over the place, they seemed happy.

Willow and Tara seemed all snuggly and happy. There was so much magic at their apartment that it made Buffy's skin crawl.

There were times when she wished that they'd just left her dead. Surely they could have found a better way to deal, some other method. Maybe that robot that Spike had built, or getting Faith out of prison... No, getting Faith would probably be a bad idea. Unwise.

But it still left her alone. Not fighting unsupported, but she had nobody to hold her, nobody to snuggle with. Nobody to give her really enjoyable orgasms, as Anya would say. She missed that.

"Miss?" The man's voice held a trace of some sort of accent that Buffy couldn't place. Something that hinted at money, and exotic places. "I'm trying to find a place where I can enjoy myself a bit. Could you help me?"

Buffy turned to look at the stranger. He was definitely nobody that she'd met before, tall like Angel had been, but more slender. His long black hair hung loose around him, and his skin was so pale that if he hadn't been standing in the sunshine, she would have been sure he was a vampire. He was also the most compellingly handsome man that she'd ever seen. It felt like she couldn't breathe, but Buffy smiled, and offered, "I could show you where the Bronze is."

"I think that would be good." His slow smile seemed to take the comment from a simple agreement and turn it into a proclamation, that things would be good because he had decided. "I am Cel."

Slowly, she smiled, feeling almost alive again. "I'm Buffy."

"Buffy..." From his lips, her name sounded exotic, alluring and wonderful. He looked as if he was contemplating enjoyable things. "Lead on to this club."

He walked at her side, and Buffy had the oddest feeling that he didn't really belong in Sunnydale, but somewhere else, somewhere grander and more impressive. As if by magic, they were simply waved into the Bronze, without the faintest mention of a cover charge or ID's.

Buffy wasn't surprised as he was swallowed up by the dancing people, and she moved around the edges of the room, trying to remember the enjoyment that she'd felt here before. When she'd wanted to go out dancing at the Bronze, enjoyed swaying beside someone. It wasn't working, there just didn't seem to be any emotion there.

"You don't look like you're having fun," Cel's voice wrapped around her, like drowning in velvet shadows.

"Yeah, well... That doesn't mean you can't enjoy yourself." Buffy shrugged, trying to hide the emptiness inside. "I'm just not feeling too much lately."

His fingers trailed over her arm, and he leaned close enough that she could smell his cologne, something intoxicating and indescribable. "What if I offered to help you feel?"

"You could do that?" Buffy asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Perhaps you have somewhere more private?" The words were temptation.

Buffy wasn't quite sure how they managed to leave the Bronze and end up in her house. His hands were sliding up her back, and she had just ripped his shirt open, running her hands over skin that felt like warm, supple ivory. Their lips were together, tongues and teeth touching in something too intense and too wild for Buffy to call a kiss. Every touch of his skin against hers sent a little tingle through her body.

"I promise, you'll feel tonight," Cel broke the kiss to pull her shirt away, caressing the newly bared flesh. "You'll feel quite a bit."

Cel was true to his word. There was passion, pleasure and pain, all of it intense. Buffy felt, possibly more than she'd really wanted.

Waking up, Buffy looked at the stunning features of her new lover. This might have been foolish, it was certainly hasty. But with Cel, she'd felt again, instead of just existing. Her mind turned back to the things that they'd done last night and into the morning...

"Oh no!" Buffy gasped, realizing that in all the assorted things that they'd done, not once had there been any condoms used. And she wasn't on the pill anymore. "We didn't... and we did... oh God..."

Cel opened one eye, peering up at her. "What?"

Buffy was momentarily distracted by the three rings of color on his eyes, but shook herself out of that. "We had sex! Lots of sex, and without... I mean... What happens if..."

"If you become pregnant?" He sat up, sliding his hands up her thighs and kissing her stomach. "That wouldn't be a tragedy."

Buffy made a soft noise at his touch, and whispered, "A baby? How would I support a baby?"

"If you bear my child, I'll become a king, and you'll never need to worry about money again." He kissed his way up her body, covering each bruise, each mark left by his riding crop. "I'll take care of you."

"Make me feel again?" Buffy asked, deciding to worry later about his claims of possible kingship. Right now, she just wanted to feel.

Cel chuckled as he kissed her. "I'll make you feel..."

end Enthralled.


	48. Angel and Eeyore: Gloomy Voices

author: Lucinda

rated T for Teen.

main characters: Angel, Eeyore

disclaimer: I don't own Angel, he was created by Joss. I'm not sure who owns Eeyore of the 'Winnie the Pooh' books, but that's not me either.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, Mystifying dreams - anybody else demented enough to want it, just ask.

notes: written for Twisting's FicForAll. Set in BtVS season 3, after his return.

Angel staggered away from the own, his mind filled with the images of the many people that he... that Angelus... that he had wronged. Killed. Tortured. Lives destroyed, hopes and dreams ruined.

"I'm a monster," he whispered. He didn't understand how he was back here, back in Sunnydale. He'd hurt so many people here, people who'd accepted him into their lives.

"Depends on how you define a monster." The somber voice emerged from a nearby clump of thistles.

"Who..?" Angel blinked. Sunnydale might be the home of the Hellmouth, but a talking patch of thistles seemed a bit too strange.

"Me. Nobody of particular importance." Slowly, a figure emerged. Reaching almost to Angel's hips, a small, purple creature resembling a child's toy donkey looked at him, with big, dark eyes. "I expect that you're feeling rather miserable about now. Listening to voices, seeing the images of what happened before, things that shouldn't have been done. Live ended, homes wrecked, hopes crushed... that sort of thing."

Angel nodded, too stunned for words. There was something vaguely familiar about the creature, though he couldn't quite place it.

"That would be why you've found yourself a nicely miserable area to lurk and brood. I've been watching," the purple donkey-like creature added.

"Why?" Angel asked, feeling rather confused. He'd been thinking about facing the sunrise, ending his miserable existence.

"I've been there. Guilt, brooding, the desire to suffer in penance..." The creature shook his head. "How does cow's blood compare to eating thistles as a form of self-deprivation?"

"It tastes terrible." Angel blinked, shaking his head. "Thistles?"

"Sharp, thorny leaves, and not much flavor," the creature offered glumly.

"err... do you know who I am?" Angel asked.

"Angelus, a vampire who spread fear, chaos, and bloodshed across Europe and Asia for over a century. But you go by Angel now," the creature commented, leaning against a tree. "Call me Eeyore."

"Eeyore? That's..." Angel shook his head again. Maybe he was still asleep, that last batch of blood had tasted a bit funny.

"Not the name I was first given, of course. And thistles don't have nearly the same crunch to them as bones. Whistler was supposed to do better with you, if he has the bad taste to come back, I'll save you one of his," Eeyore muttered. "They swore that after me, they never wanted anyone to brood so much over what's done and past."

"I was cursed with my soul, with a conscience and guilt after being a vampire for over a century! I fell in love with a Slayer, and nearly ended the world!" Angel was glaring, and part of him wanted to know if he'd just started shouting over his right to brood and be miserable. This was surely one very strange dream...

Eeyore just nodded. "I destroyed a couple cities, and set of a nice wave of plagues. I know how it feels to brood and be guilty. But it doesn't change anything."

"plague?" Angel asked in a very small voice.

"Mmm-hmm. Bubonic. Sort of tastes like licorice in the bodies," Eeyore explained. "Your soul's not leaving again, and if you really want to brood, come with me and I'll teach you. If I could stay gloomy with that bouncing Tigger and that bear... You need a bit more privacy to really brood. None of that suicidal stuff either, if you want to make yourself suffer it's too fast."

Fascinated in spite of himself, Angel found himself following the small creature into the woods. If this wasn't a dream, he had the feeling that everything was about to change. "So, does this mean I shouldn't try to make a difference anymore?"

"Didn't say that," Eeyore shook his head. "But not here. This place... too much sunshine, it's bad for the digestion. Whistler fumbled by sending you here. Now it's my turn."

end Gloomy Voices.


	49. the Master and Yzma: A Darker Groove

Author: Lucinda

Rated: t for teens to be safe

Main characters: Yzma, the Master

Disclaimer: the Master is from BtVS, written by Joss & Co. Yzma is from the Emperor's New Groove, a Disney movie.

Distribution: Mental Wanderings, Twisting the Hellmouth, Mystifying Dreams – anyone else ask.

Notes: set after the Groove, and considerably before any of the events from Sunnydale in BtVS. Yes, she has a different assistant. Twisting's FfA pairing #2078

Yzma glared down the mountain. Strangers had come into the land, pale men with metal armor and strange sticks that could wound or kill from a great distance. Pale men with hair on their faces and greed in their eyes. She'd almost managed to have the empire in her grasp when they came, bringing panic, disease, and death. Her plans had been ruined again.

"This empire should be mine," she hissed. "Tulon, I want you to go down to their camp and spy on them. Tell me anything of interest or possible use."

Her assistant nodded, and was soon moving through the bushes. She'd had larger assistants, but this one was good at sneaking, and considerably smarter than a few of her past employees. He wasn't a very good cook, but not everyone could do everything.

She returned to her lab, determined that she would find a way to get rid of these men, or else turn them to her use. She bottled the poison that she'd brewed, now that it was cool, and started the ingredients for something else, a turtle-potion. See how fast they would take her empire in the shape of turtles… She'd worked for a very, very long time to get this land under her control, she wasn't about to give up this easily.

"Yzma?" Tulon staggered, his footsteps unusually clumsy. "They have a monster in a box."

"What?" She spun around, prepared to demand answers immediately.

Tulon was bleeding, his hand clutching at his shoulder, his clothing stained and dripping with blood. "Sit down at once and take that off. I'll get you something for that…"

The wound was horrible. Something with sharp teeth had apparently tried to take a bit out of him, succeeding in biting, but barely missing the main blood vessel. Most troublesome, she didn't recognize the shape of the bite. Certainly not a jaguar, though the teeth looked to have been sharp enough. Not a snake. The bit wasn't the right size to have been a monkey, though it looked similar. If one of the river caiman had been that close, he would have had his head bitten right off, not his shoulder opened. She packed healing herbs in the wound, and wrapped bandages over the whole area.

"Here, drink this," she held out one of her blue potions, one that aided healing.

Tulon took it, his hand shaking as he lifted it to his lips and drank. "It was… I don't know what it was. The box was as large as your carry-chair, and at first, I thought they had a man locked inside. An old man, with no hair."

"What can you tell me of this box?" Yzma had a feeling that this monster-man in the box was of importance. She just didn't know yet if she would be able to make use of him.

"It's made from solid wood, with heavy bands of metal around it. Like a treasure chest. Only… they seemed to be terrified of what was inside. It was wrapped in chains, with small talismans tied to the links." He touched the bandages, wincing. His wrist was wrapped in deep purple bruises, shaped like a hand. "Of course, I had to see what they had inside."

Yzma turned o her shelves, plucking down a jar with a bruise balm. "How did he look different from them?"

"His clothing was similar, though it was the garments of their nobles, not their soldiers. His skin was very pale, and he had no hair, so I assumed that he was old. When he turned…" Tulon shivered, closing his eyes for a moment. "His eyes were yellow, like a snake, and his face had been… it was… wrong. And he had such sharp teeth… The next thing I knew, he was biting me. I barely got away from him, and only them by bashing him with the chains that they'd used on the box. The talismans burned his flesh like hot coals, but they were just metal. Silver and bronze."

"You stay here and rest. When that potion comes to a boil, move it away from the fire, I'll bottle it when it cools," Yzma ordered, selecting a large jar of a sleeping potion form the shelf. "I think this might be a situation that I can use."

She went into her chambers, putting on the rough garb of an old peasant woman. These foreigners would look no farther, dismissing her as a harmless old woman. While she was an old woman, she was far from harmless, and they would rue the day that they'd thwarted her plans. Looking back at the shelf, she smiled as an idea bloomed. They were soldiers – what did soldiers want? Wine, good food, and pretty women. If she brought them wine to drink, and laced it with the sleeping potion, then they would render themselves helpless. It could be blamed on them not being used to the local drinks.

That part was quite easy, and went of exactly as she'd planned. Several of them were making what she was certain were rude comments about her, but she ignored them. They were drunken men, little different from the men of her own empire. As soon as she dealt with them, then the emperor would have no choice but to give her more power, and she'd be running the whole land in all but name.

They were soon all fallen to the ground, drunk or asleep, it mattered very little which. The box was easy to find, covered over with a heavy cloth, and wrapped around with iron chains. A small charm, no larger than the palm of her hand, had been tied to every third link, a pair of bars crossing each other, though not quite at the center, and with one longer than the other. Some had been decorated with little swirls, others were plain. It did look rather like a cross between a treasure chest and a carry-chair.

"What are you that they would go to such trouble to confine you?" Yzma whispered, looking at the thick chains and solid wooden sides.

In reply, a man's voice answered. There was a growl to his words, and he spoke in a language that she did not understand. It sounded as if he was demanding some answer of his own.

"Well, whatever you are, you have good ears," Yzma decided. Carefully, she picked the locks, a skill that she'd learned after ending up trapped in small room once, during the whole fiasco with Kuzcu. "I think you might be of use to me after all."

He emerged from the box, his clothing torn in several places but still obviously of fine quality and made with great care. Threads of gold had been used to embroider strange flowing patterns over the edges of some thick blue fabric. His eyes were yellow like a serpent's, and his teeth would have been quite at home in the mouth of a jaguar, but he was still some sort of man. His eyes met hers, and there was the oddest sensation, as if he was pushing at her spirit.

Yzma smiled, recognizing that he had power. She pushed back, trying to convey that she was someone of importance, that's he would not be pushed around any further. He was filled with hunger, a dark and terrible hunger for the lives of his captors. Having no objection to him killing the foreign intruders, Yzma simply gestured at them, stepping back so that he could move towards them. "Why should I object to their deaths? They have come into these lands, and spoiled my plans."

Yzma watched as he moved towards the closest sleeping soldier, and lifted the man as if he was little more than a rag-doll. Those sharp teeth sank into the soldier's throat, and she was certain that he was drinking, swallowing down the man's blood as if it were wine. "No wonder they were afraid and locked you away, trusting in their magician's charms to keep you imprisoned."

He dropped the body, and turned to face her, those odd yellow eyes looking at her, as if he was trying to see her soul. He spoke, the tone calmer, his words spoken in the arrogant tones of one used to command. She had no idea what they meant.

"Kill him, kill another if you want, they mean nothing to me." She waved her hand at the sleeping men, and then looked at him. "I wonder, how is it that you do what you can do? To lift him like that, to drink his life away?"

He stepped closer, his eyes still locked onto hers. Yzma had the oddest feeling, similar to floating in water. She could feel promises and questions whispered at the edge of her mind, offers of power and time. All she had to do was help him….

"You want revenge on them for capturing you. I want to rule this land," Yzma murmured, somehow certain of this from the touch of his mind against hers. "You can help me?"

Slowly, he nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. His smile would have terrified a lesser person, sent them cowering or fleeing. Yzma just smiled. "Good."

He moved towards her, each step slow, confident, and threatening. He was destruction and change incarnate. If she let him do this, nothing would ever be the same again, and she didn't even know what he intended to do.

One hand brushed against her cheek, his sharp claws sending shivers down her spine. He whispered something, the words an incomprehensible promise. Then, his teeth were in her throat, and it stung, like shards of glass. That floating feeling changed into a powerful undertow, dragging her towards darkness.

Cool fluid touched her lips, and Yzma's tongue flicked out, tasting what she couldn't see. Blood. His blood. She drank, uncertain what was happening, but she could recognize ritual and ceremony when it happened, and this action held power. He had taken blood from the soldier, but not given any in return. He gave her blood, and there was importance, power in this giving.

Yzma had been trying to seize power for generations. She drank.

This would change everything. She could hardly wait.

End A Darker Groove.


	50. Drusilla and Niska: Starlight Lessons

Author: Lucinda

rated y-14, content similar to the series BtVS and/or Firefly

main characters: Drusilla, Niska

Disclaimer: they were created by Joss Whedon, not me.

Distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, Mystifying Dreams, or by request.

Notes: pairng 2285 for Twisting's Fic-For-All. Set well after the end of BtVS, and before the Firefly series.

Drusilla sighed, looking at the sprawling city. It twinkled on the planet below. Below.

She looked up, gazing out towards the stars, something that she could do now by simply looking out the windows. "So many things have changed. The world is gone, and Daddy with it."

Stars twinkled at her, and the city lights sparkled, as if they were trying to answer the stars above. The pattern of the stars was different now, twisted and pulled awry from the long ago time of her youth.

"Is something wrong, Miss?" The man's voice was calm, polite, and accented with a language that she couldn't quite place.

She turned, smiling politely at the young man. He almost looked like the sort of man that might have been her child if she and her sweet William had been able to create babies... "I am far from home, and my family are no longer with me."

"Did they go planet-side?" There was a tiny wrinkling to his face as he asked, as if he found the idea distasteful. "There are so many illnesses down below."

"Living on a planet is different than life on a station," Drusilla mused, turning to look behind him. "All the people, scurrying around and up and down, living in a jar. Down below, there aren't any bottles, but there is wind, and tears, and sickness and life, all out of hand."

The young man made a noise, not quite a word. He was looking at her oddly, as if he wasn't certain quite how to think of her.

"Sweet young man, you have no idea what to think of me, do you?" Drusilla smiled, catching his eyes with her own.

"My family taught me of investments and business transactions, not reading people," he murmured, almost apologetic sounding.

Drusilla smiled, moving closer. Her hand rested against his shoulder, and she culd feel the warmth of his body seeping into her hand. "I can teach you how to read the depths and fabric of souls, if you want. I can teach you when and how to look into a man and know him, better than his father, better than his children, better than his lover."

"Truly?" the word was breathed out, eyes lit with excitement. "Permit a more proper introduction, I am Adelei Niska."

"Call me Drusilla," she smiled at him, anticipation warming her. "Drusilla Aurellius."

She was looking forward to teaching him so many things, just as her Daddy had taught them to her so long ago...

End Starlight Lessons.


	51. Doyle and Minerva: Landings

Author: Lucinda

rated y-14, just to be safe.

main characters: Allen Francis Doyle, Minerva McGonagall

disclaimer: Doyle is the creation of Joss Whedon for Angel: the Series, Minerva belongs to JK Rowling from her Harry Potter novels. Any mention of people, places or situations from those sources is also not my property.

distribution: anyone with permission for one of my other BtVS/Harry Potter crossovers has permission.

notes: prequel to 'Vote of Confidence', written for Twisting's FfA. Post 'Hero' in s1 AtS.

The Scourge had come to Los Angeles, wanting to purge the city of demon-human hybrids. They'd been trying to fight them, and then he'd jumped, there had been painful impact with the metal death-device, and then bright light combined with the most excruciating burning sensation... Doyle was fairly certain that he was supposed to be dead.

Which in no way explained to him what he was doing sprawled on a polished wooden floor in front of a fireplace, staring at an older woman with her hair in a bun, clad in a dark green gown and an old man that could have doubled for a gaudier Gandalf, both of them apparently frozen in the act of sipping tea from china cups with a pattern of red lions marching around the edges.

"This is unexpected, Minerva," the Gandalf-like man murmured, sipping at his tea.

Her tea was placed firmly on a tray, and she looked at him, eyes narrowing at Doyle. With a disapproving Scottish accent, she commented, "I was certain that I had wards up to prevent people from just flooing into my parlor."

"How did I end up back in the Isles?" Doyle murmured, blinking in confusion. He thought that he'd been in a boat, but still... The hold of a boat should not translate to some Scottswoman's parlor. Shaking his head in a futile effort to make sense out of his situation, Doyle offered a small smile to the woman, "I do apologize for the interruption, though I'm not sure that it was any doing of mine at all."

"Back in the..." Minerva frowned, giving him the distractedly thoughtful expression that most likely meant that she was trying to see if he was someone that she should remember. "Where were you before, young man?"

Deciding that neither Minerva or the man who couldn't be Gandalf seemed to be inclined to attack him, Doyle very slowly sat up, waiting to see if it would be safe to try standing up. Considering that he was still certain he should be dead, he wasn't going to take standing up for granted. "The last thing I was certain of, I was in the hold of a boat docked on the edge of Los Angeles, in the United States. I seem to have missed the explanation of how that changed."

"I'm particularly impressed by the white color the fire turned just before you came through," the old man mused. "Most unlike the normal green."

"I came through white fire instead of green..." Doyle blinked, wondering just how hard he'd hit his head when ending up on the woman's floor. "Perhaps you could be telling me a general idea of where I am? Beyond the well-polished parlor of Minerva, that is."

"And here I was under the impression that such strange things only happened around Harry Potter," Minerva muttered, shaking her head. With a small sigh, she made a few motions with a small, pointed stick that somehow produced another teacup, and then poured a cup. "Do you take cream or sugar in your tea?"

"One sugar, thank you," Doyle murmured, slowly rising to his feet. He felt dizzy, and dark spots danced in his vision, causing him to ask, "Might I be sitting down?"

With a gesture from Minerva's wand, one of the plaid upholstered chairs scooted forward. "Of course."

"Perhaps you'd like a lemon drop?" the old man offered, holding out a small bowl filled with pale yellow candies.

"Not everyone is enamored of those candies, Albus. I have some lemons if he'd care for something to flavor his tea," Minerva reproved.

Sipping at his tea, Doyle tried to figure out what had happened. His mind kept returning to the conclusion that he should be dead. "I'm Doyle, and I'm starting to think that I've come a good bit further than simply across an ocean."

"Well, young Doyle, you are most fortunate that you've arrived here instead of somewhere less hospitable. Had you been truly unfortunate..." Albus sighed, watching him over half-moon glasses as he sipped at steaming tea that carried a distinctly sweet and lemonish smell. "I'm afraid that dark times are once again looming for our world."

As Doyle sat in the comfortable chair, sipping at Minerva's potent tea, he listened to the pair continue their conversation. He learned that they were both part of the faculty of a place called 'Hogwarts', which was apparently some sort of boarding school, and that the school terms would be starting up in a little over a month. The Harry Potter mentioned earlier was one of Minerva's students, and apparently had a positive gift for trouble finding him, a rivalry with 'young Malfoy', and far more personal notice of the teachers than Doyle thought was normal for a young man, or perhaps still a boy.

Albus took a few moments, pondering his teacup, before murmuring, "It seems this year will be no less interesting than the last. My thanks for the tea, Minerva."

Striding to the fireplace, he reached into a bowl, tossing a handful of something into the fire. When the flames turned from a pale yellow to a lime green, he called out, 'Dumbledore's office' before stepping into the fireplace and vanishing.

"That's not something I see everyday," Doyle gawked. Either he'd hit his head really hard, or there might be a bit more in the tea than just tea leaves and water...

After a few moments, Minerva looked at him. "Mr. Doyle, how much of that did you understand?"

"We're in Scotland, you and Albus who isn't quite Gandalf are part of the faculty of a school, trouble finds Harry Potter quite a lot, and there's some sort of grave peril rising that the government is ignoring. On top of that, you're both apparently practiced at working magic," Doyle shrugged fairly certain that as Albus had mentioned, things could have been much worse. "Does this You-Know-Who that I don't know who have vampires, or only werewolves and more magic users? If he's that smart, you'd think he'd want some followers who can act more than once a month."

Blinking, Minerva murmured, "Our sources of information are rather limited. We believe that he's made some approaches to several groups of vampires, but has not yet been able to come to any agreement. Considering your surprise about the Floo and my wand, I hadn't expected you to know anything about such creatures."

Despite the sound of it, Doyle was certain that Minerva didn't mean influenza when she said 'flu', no matter how much it sounded like that. "I'm starting to suspect that I might be in a completely different world. Some of the things that I knew about before made it clear that there's alternate worlds, parallel dimensions, and different realms, though I'm a bit fuzzy on the differences. I was well aware that magic is real, though you seem to be using it differently than I've seen, and I know a good deal about vampires and werewolves. Not from direct experience, of course, but there are some things that stick once you've learned them."

"A different world…" Minerva shook her head, her fingertip running along the length of her wand. "I'm not certain that we could find a way to send you back."

Remembering the death-device and the Scourge, Doyle shivered. His life had fallen apart after his divorce, well, more accurately the divorce had been part of his life falling apart, but the point was that the only people who might miss him were Angel and Cordelia. Possibly a few people that he owed money to. "I think I can deal with being here instead of there."

"Well, I suppose that we'll need to help you learn about this world. I still have the books from when my boys were in school, I can bring them down for you to go through," Minerva rose from her chair, smiling. "By chance do you know anything about working with children?"

"I spent a few years as a kindergarten teacher," he offered, wondering what had prompted the question. "Shouldn't I learn a bit more about this world before you set me in front of a classroom?"

"Perhaps," she chuckled. "Don't worry at all, you'll do just fine."

End Landings.


	52. Doyle and Hermione: Vote of Confidence

author: Lucinda

rated y-14

main characters: Doyle and Hermione Granger

disclaimer: I do not own anyone from the Harry Potter books or from the universe of BtVS and Angel: the Series.

distribution: Mental Wanderings, Twisting the Hellmouth, OADNT

notes: AU from mid s1 AtS, AU post book 4 for HP. Twisting's FfA #1537.

The school was in a castle. Doyle shook his head, still surprised by that, even though he'd been here for a month. He'd spent so much time trying to learn that he'd barely had time to consider the smaller things. He wasn't in California anymore, but somewhere in Scotland. He wasn't dead anymore, though nobody could quite explain that one. Wizards and witches were... a lot more varied than he'd thought.

The ones here used wands. They flew on brooms and made potions in cauldrons. They dressed in robes and wore pointy hats.

If they weren't so impressive with the spells, he'd have laughed.

He'd been here for a month, and they wanted to make him a teacher. Not that he particularly objected to the idea, he'd been a teacher once before. But how did they expect him to teach a class called 'the History of Magic' when he knew so little of this world?

"Oh! I didn't... sorry to interrupt. Are... are you a new teacher?" He was being stared at in shocked puzzlement by a girl who looked to be about fourteen, with long, bushy brown hair and a thick book tucked under her arm.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile. "Possibly. Headmaster Dumbledore seems to think that I should be."

"You couldn't be worse than Professor Quirrel. Or Lockehart, I suppose," she mused. "Oh, I'm Hermione Granger."

"Why is that?" Doyle faced her, curious about what sort of reasoning the girl would use. "You aren't knowing anything about me."

"Well..." She paused, and glanced up, looking hesitant. "Lockeheart was a fraud, and Quirrel was sharing a body with an evil wizard. You couldn't possibly be a worse Defense teacher than they were."

He started to laugh. She thought that he would be teaching Defense? Though it did sound as if only a complete magical incompetent would be worse... which, unfortunately, was an accurate description of himself.

"Sir?" Miss Granger's voice was timid. "What's so funny?"

"Much as it sounds like you deserve a better quality teacher than those, that's not the position that I've been offered. Apparently, your Professor of Magical History is long overdue a retirement, and Headmaster Dumbledore thinks that I could replace him." He shook his head, deciding not to mention his lack of magical skill. "And since I'm not quite a Professor yet, you may call me Mr. Doyle."

"History of Magic? Really?" Her eyes lit up. "Oh, that would be wonderful! Professor Binns has been... well, he's been teaching that class for five hundred years, and he really is due a change..."

"Five hundred..." Doyle blinked. "Please tell me he's another ghost."

"Yes, sir." Her eyes twinkled. "Have you read 'Hogwarts: a History' yet?"

"Not yet," he admitted. "Even knowing so very little about me, do you think I'd do a better job?"

"Well, I think the students would probably stay awake, which would be a big improvement," she murmured. "Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't have offered the position if he didn't think you could do it."

Doyle hmmmed, before a thought occurred to him. "Isn't it a bit early for you to be at school? Still summer vacation, I'd think."

"Apparently, there was some concern about my safety considering that You-Know-Who is back, and Professor McGonagall arranged for me to come back to school early."

"Of course, she's a very determined woman when she sets her mind to something," Doyle agreed, feeling rather cautious of the older witch. It wasn't that he feared she'd use her magic against him, but then again, she wouldn't have to. The woman could put more scolding disapproval and almost motherly disappointment in a raised eyebrow and a few well-chosen words... He'd also have to ask someone about this 'You-Know-Who' person, because he didn't know. The way Miss Granger had used the term, it was obvious that everyone was supposed to know.

"It's because I'm friends with Harry Potter," she explained.

"Ah," Doyle nodded. He was still a bit unclear on the details, but he knew that everyone seemed to expect quite a lot of that boy, and that for some reason that was equally unclear, he was apparently famous. "Poor kid, having the weight of so much expectation on him."

"I'm sure you'll be a great teacher, Mr. Doyle." Hermione offered, and then retreated towards the castle.

"At least someone expects good things from me," he murmured. The vote of confidence felt good, though he wondered if she'd be so friendly and confident if she knew about his father... No, probably not. Best to be keeping that a secret then.

end Vote of Confidence.


	53. Anya & Logan: Away up North

Author: Lucinda

rated y-14

main characters: Anya and Logan(Wolverine)

disclaimer: Anya was created by Joss & Co for BtVS, Logan was created by Stan Lee and Marvel Comics.

distribution: Twisting, mental wanderings, or by request.

notes: pairing #806 for Twisting's Fic-For-All. AU mid s6 BtVS and movie-verse for Logan. Expansion of a 200-word drabble into a longer story.

She'd been told that a woman's wedding was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. A time of celebration, promises, and presents followed by feasting and sex. The momentous start of a new life.

Too bad hers had been a disaster.

It was Xander's fault. He'd called off the wedding and left. Unfortunately, she had been the one who had to tell all the invited guests that the wedding was cancelled, she had been the one standing there in a five thousand dollar wedding gown, and she had been the one who hadn't seen it coming. Her first thought had been to kill him. Her second had been that death was too quick, and maybe she should torture him for several years before finally granting him the release of death.

Then she'd found the gloating, miserable wretch who had caused the chain of events - a nasty fear demon who had caught Xander before the wedding, showed him something horrible, and stood back watching as Xander had panicked and called off the wedding before fleeing.

She'd killed him. Slowly.

Unfortunately, that had left horrible stains on the gown, and blood was hard enough to get out of normal fabric, she figured that it would take strong magic to get all the blood out of the lacy white wedding gown.

Given what she had learned, Anya no longer wanted to slowly eviscerate Xander as she filled his stomach cavity with hungry mice and hot coals, nor did she wish for him to rot from the inside out. She didn't want to see Willow and Tara, simply because they were still happy together when she was now alone. She didn't want to see Buffy because Buffy seemed to object to anyone else killing people in her town. She didn't want to see Giles because he'd be too understanding, and then her eyes would leak, and she'd break down and weep and wail like a wimp.

It was time to leave Sunnydale. The whole state of California might be good, while she was packing.

She went north, certain that eventually the are would stop reminding her of Sunnydale, and of Xander. She didn't care much beyond that.

Honestly, this miserable little diner wasn't anything like Sunnydale. The food wasn't good, the beer was worse, and all the miserable men were human. Part of her itched to make them even more miserable. It wouldn't be that hard, she didn't even need to be a demon to send a little misery...

"This seat taken?" The voice held a bit of a growl.

"No," Anya glanced at him, expecting another overweight leering man to be oggling her admittedly nice body.

He wasn't overweight, and he wasn't quite leering, though he did seem to appreciate her curves. His dark hair swept back into two rough points, and his eyes held a wildness that she hadn't seen in centuries, and that in the berserkers of her homeland. Other than his eyes, the man didn't look a thing like her people though.

He settled onto the barstool and accepted a beer from the boring man behind the counter. As he lifted the mug, Anya could see that his fingers were stubby and covered with tiny scars, the sort that come from countless knives and fights over many years.

"What're you running from?" He didn't sound terribly interested, asking more from habit or expectations than curiosity.

Anya arched an eyebrow at him as she signaled for another beer. "I thought the normal line was 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this', not what am I running from."

"You're running. The only people that come through here are running, eco-nuts, or truck drivers. You aren't a trucker, you haven't said anything about saving the trees or some animal or other, so you must be running from something," he downed the contents of a shot glass, letting it clink against the bar. "Besides, the weather's been terrible and looks ready to stay that way."

Considering his words, Anya had to smile. He was right, and she wasn't about to start in about saving the spotted owls or purple buffalo or whatever helpless animal people were worried about today. Animals were tougher than modern humans wanted to credit. She didn't answer immediately, instead taking another swallow of her beer.

The bartender came back, grinning at the man, "another round?"

"Give me a line of 'em, or just leave the bottle," he replied.

Watching as the man poured himself another shot, Anya nodded. "Memories. Unfortunately, they do a good job of keeping up with me."

"Ah," Lifting the bottle slightly, he asked, "Want a little help for the beer?"

"Thanks. You aren't going to ask me to tell you all about the ugly memories?" Anya blinked, wondering when or how he'd dealt with that irritating aspect of human curiosity.

"If you want to talk about them, I'll listen. If you just want to drink, I'll buy every other round or maybe that should be every other bottle," he shrugged, pouring about an inch into her mug. "What should I call you, darlin'?"

"I'm Anya, and I'll buy the next round." She wasn't quite certain why she'd smiled at him.

Several bottles later, it had seemed like a fine idea to explain about Sunnydale and the Hellmouth. Another bottle after that and she'd suggested that he take her off to a room, and offered a few suggestions for once they got there.

Damn if he hadn't taken her up on those suggestions.

Anya had just forgotten one little thing: she wasn't a demon anymore. Humans had limits on how much alcohol they could drink, and she'd ran smack into that limit. She had been unconscious through the morning, and when the searingly bright sunlight had slipped between the curtains, she'd groaned and pulled a pillow over her head, feeling quite sympathetic for the poor, flammable vampires. She vaguely remembered saying something, possibly 'turn off the sun'.

It hadn't seemed quite worth leaving that evening. He'd offered her coffee and aspirin, asking nothing deeper than if she wanted sugar or cream in the coffee. Nothing about her muttered curses on the brewing companies, nothing about her words of demons and vampires. Her car had been hooked to the back of his battered camper, and she'd been tucked into his rumpled bed that smelled most strongly of sex and alcohol. Blearily, she'd thanked Logan for the coffee, and for hooking her car up to tow along.

"You can travel with me as long as you want. Just let me know before you leave, so I'm not wondering if something out in the cold got you," Logan had offered from the front of the camper.

"What's out there?" Anya had stumbled forward, settling in the passenger seat with a blanket wrapped over her body, only her jeans underneath. "I don't think I've been out here before…"

Logan shrugged, "I'm not sure. I'm just damn sure that there's something nasty and hungry and that the scientists didn't believe in it until some of them were eaten. Whatever happened, it wasn't a bear like they tried to claim."

"What did happen?"

"There was darkness, and howling… People died. I can't remember."

"Why not? Was it that traumatic?" Anya pulled her feet up into the blanket, curling her toes up.

"Something happened after that. It took my past, all my memories. I've had some dreams, bits and pieces," Logan paused, carefully steering the camper around a corner. "I've learned to tell the bits that are memories from the ones that aren't. What happened to me was pain. There are howling things out there with big teeth. Something else, bigger, white and hungry… it eats people."

Something stirred in Anya's memories, from her days as Anyanka. Vengeance granted to the survivors of a horrible tragedy, where the few who returned from a hunting party sent out by one of the native villages had been trapped by an avalanche and had eaten the others of their group. The grieving widow of one of the eaten dead had demanded vengeance, and there had been a Wish granted… the Wendigo. The fact that the vengeance had been far more dangerous to them than the original handful of survivors was considered a sign of skill among the demonic circles… Unfortunately, she wasn't part of those circles any longer. "Damn. Let's hope there isn't one of those out there right now. I don't want to be on anything's menu."

"No, I suppose not," Logan agreed. "Not that the glimpses aren't nice, but you should put on a bit more clothes. It's too cold to run around half dressed, and unfortunately the heater doesn't work very well."

Anya sighed, knowing that he was right. Her goose-bumps were getting goose-bumps now, so more clothing sounded quite good. She made her way to the back, where her things had landed on the floor and in the bedding. Eventually she would part company with Logan, when it wasn't convenient to travel with him any longer.

She wasn't going to let herself get attached again. That had only led to pain. This time, she wouldn't let it happen.

Of course, it was nice not to have to drive in the snow. Since she was only trying to go away from her ugly memories, wherever Logan was heading was as good as anywhere else. And the man was a very satisfying lover, giving her many orgasms…

Maybe she didn't have to part company with Logan just yet. There would be time for that later.

End Away up North.


	54. Scott & Anne: Tears of a Summers

author: Lucinda

rated y-14, content similar to BtVS series and X-Men comics/movies

main characters: Scott Summers, Anne

disclaimer: I do not hold legal rights to Scott or anyone else from X-Men, they belong to Marvel comics or Marvel Entertainment. Anne (also known as Lilly or Chantarelle) was created by the writing staff of BtVS - I don't own her either.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, anyone else ask first.

notes: FfA pairing #1699. Set post X-2, with Anne in LA - her shelter is up and running. Don't worry about any other AtS particulars.

Anne moved among the people, nodding occasionally and smiling at the guests. This year, they'd decided on a more relaxed sort of fundraiser, instead of the fancy gala that they'd had the year before. Hopefully, by leaving out the black ties and fancy gowns, they'd also manage to skip the gunmen, the attempted robberies, and the blood-stained money. Enduring karaoke and the inevitable drunken party-goers was a sacrifice, but she'd rather have that then a repeat of last year.

There was a man at the bar, wearing red sunglasses. Tall-average for height, if she was judging right, lean build, dark hair… and he was brooding as much as Angel.

Maybe she should go make sure he had a pulse. Five years ago, the very idea would have seemed silly – he was sitting there, moving, occasionally talking, of course he'd have a pulse. Four years ago, the idea would have been thrilling – she'd thought vampires were some sort of mysterious, superior creature, above the troubles of mere mortals. Now, she knew better. Vampires were very real, and very dangerous. Even Angel, though at least he probably wouldn't try to eat anybody.

"You don't look like you're enjoying the party," Anne perched on the stool beside him, offering a small smile.

"I'm not," he didn't even look at her.

"Any particular reason?" Anne felt a pang, she had organized the event. If there was something that she'd forgotten, how many other people might be not enjoying themselves?

"Things have been rough lately. It's nothing you need to worry about," with that, the man downed a shot and signaled for another.

"Right," Anne nodded, certain that the man was making a mistake. If things were going wrong in his life, the solution wouldn't be found at the bottom of a shot-glass. She'd just check on him alter, and try to make certain that he didn't drive away drunk. "I hope things look up for you soon."

The man just snorted, his slim fingers making the empty glass dance in a circle.

As Anne walked away from the bar, she realized that not even the people she'd taken off the street for her shelter were in as much need as that man. She didn't understand why, or what all had gone wrong, but that man was drowning in his pain. Heaven only knew what would happen if he stayed like that – he could snap and harm someone, kill himself, or end up shuffling along the streets, dying by miserable inches. She'd check on him again later.

'Later' found the man's condition even worse. He'd moved to a darker corner, and his arms were folded, both hands clenched into fists. His dark hair had become ruffled, and the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up most of the way to his elbows. The way his feet were planted shoulder width apart suggested that he was trying very hard not to sway or fall. His face was towards the people dancing, following a redhead in a tight blue dress and the blond man that she was dancing with. He still wore the strangely red sunglasses, and she could see a tear track shimmering on his cheek.

"I don't think you're enjoying yourself," Anne whispered.

"No I'm not," his voice was rough, and he looked towards her. "I think I'd like to be elsewhere… anywhere with no redheads."

"Do you have someone that can drive you home?" Anne reached out, her hand stopping before she touched him. She could feel the heat rising from his body.

The man shook his head, moving across the floor. His path meandered, curving around tables and people with only a few more curves and wobbles than necessary. He stopped at the door, looking around the street before muttering, "Nobody lurking in ambush tonight."

Despite the warmth of hundreds of people, Anne shivered. "Why would anybody be looking for you here?"

"Because they can't stand that anybody might be different, because they can't let us live in peace. Because if some people could do anything special they'd use it to do whatever they want, and so… so they can't believe that anybody else would be a better man… better woman then they could ever hope to be. Better than I could ever hope to be," tears were streaming down the man's face now.

Anne reached out, offering a tissue. Now was not the time to pry into his pain, to ask for an explanation to what any of that meant. Something about differences, about not being left alone, and about power. For the moment, it would be best to just leave the questions lingering, and make sure that he didn't kill himself. "You're in no shape to be driving, Mister… what is your name?"

"Scott. I'm Scott Summers," he swallowed a sob at the end, and turned to face her. "Miss, can you… I don't think I can look… look at the stars right now. I used to… with someone who can't anymore."

"Of course," Anne took his hand and tugged him after her. Even as she led him to her car, a voice inside her whispered that this was a mistake; that she couldn't save Scott from himself and his pain. Just like she couldn't save Diego, or Billy, or Ricky or… She couldn't save anyone unless they wanted to be saved.

Anne didn't listen to that little voice.

She took Scott home with her, to her apartment. She led him inside, intending to offer him the couch and help him find his car in the morning. But he was standing there, looking so lost and hurt that she couldn't help herself. She reached out, cupping her hand over his cheek and sliding her fingers up to tangle in his hair.

He moved, and his lips met hers. He tasted of bourbon and tears, and Anne felt like he was trying to pour himself into her, to crawl out of his skin and be someone else, even if only for a little while. To escape the pain of his memories. Fool that she was, she let him.

Her lips parted for him, and her arms wrapped around his body, pressing them closer. His fingers were running along a lock of her hair, and he kept kissing her face, over her cheeks and her eyes, along the top of her nose and her lips, nibbling at her jaw, whispering that he was sorry, that he missed her so much, that he loved her…

A corner of Anne's heart wept at the knowledge that she wasn't the one he meant. When Scott whispered 'love you' he wasn't seeing Anne, he was seeing someone else, someone who was gone. It wasn't her lips that he was kissing, not her dress that he let fall to the floor.

Just as in his mind, it wasn't Anne who unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the bottom out of his pants to run her hands over his stomach. He didn't feel Anne's hair between his fingers, her skin beneath his lips.

It wasn't her that he fell into bed with.

It was Jean.

Anne could feel the tears falling over her face as Scott fell asleep. He'd whispered a soft 'Love you, Jean' as he'd curled up beside her. Arms had settled around her, a sign of a man used to snuggling up with someone, and his body fit so comfortably beside her… Except that she wasn't Jean.

Right then, she wished that she could be Jean. She'd been Chantarelle for Diego, and Lilly for Ricky… why not be Jean for Scott? Except that she didn't think it would be that easy. It wasn't a name that he wanted, or the illusion of mystery, but a very specific person, someone that he loved and cherished, and missed desperately. Someone that wasn't her.

She didn't even need to wait for him to wake up to know that he wouldn't stay. In the morning, he'd leave, going back for his car. Maybe he'd say that he'd call her, or maybe he'd just stammer some excuse and flee. Scott would regret this in the morning.

Anne already regretted what had happened. But regrets didn't change anything, and they never would. She'd just have to go on with her life, and put tonight behind her. Just as she had all her other mistakes.

End Tears of a Summers.


	55. Cordelia Chase & Hannibal King: Welcome

Author: Lucinda

Rated t for teen due to violence

Main characters: Cordelia Chase and Hannibal King

Disclaimer: Cordelia belongs to Joss Whedon. Hannibal King is from the movie Blade 3.

Distribution: Twisting, mental Wanderings or by request

Notes: slightly AU for Cordelia.

…………….

Hannibal gasped for breath as they chased the vampires. This was supposed to be a normal strike, kill them all and get out before anyone noticed attack. Instead, some of the vampires had a set of survival instincts and were trying to run away. Smart of them, but annoying.

"Oh hell, they're trying to hide in a loony bin," he swore.

"Damn! We need to get them before any of them get the bright idea to start turning the crazy people," Abby insisted.

They charged after the vampires. Unfortunately, it wasn't long after entering the building that the hunters – both groups of hunters – got separated.

Hannibal saw a vampire dart through a doorway, and lunged after him. The fist that caught him and sent him crashing into the wall was painful, but not as large of a surprise at it would have been ten years ago, before he knew about this sort of nastiness. The vampire then turned to grab the blond woman in a white nurse's uniform.

"Let me go! Help!" the nurse screamed.

The other woman in the room, a brunette in grey clothing and soft slippers, grabbed the fallen crossbow, glaring at the nurse. "Nobody listens to screams in here, remember? Now who's the delusional one?"

She shot the vampire. It was a beautiful shot, right through the heart.

As the vampire screamed and dropped the nurse, the brunette glared at him. "I have lost too much to vampires to just cower in the corner like a helpless little victim."

The vampire burned into ashes.

Glaring at the whimpering nurse, the woman said, "That was a vampire. Those bruises on your neck are real. Not a delusion, not a metaphor. Who's crazy now?"

"Nice shot," Hannibal offered, trying not to groan as he staggered to his feet. "But I know there were a few more that came into the building."

"More like that one?" she pointed at the pile of ashes with the crossbow.

Hannibal nodded, "Want to help or do I get the crossbow back?"

"This is much better than the one I used to have," she gave him a look. "I'll help you get rid of those fashion impaired fang-boys, and then someone's getting me some real clothing."

The rest of the evening proved that her shot hadn't been a fluke.

"I didn't think we were recruiting, King," Abby was looking at him and the brunette with a little smile. "Though she does seem to be in better shape than you were when we found you."

"I'm Cordelia Chase," the woman said. "I think you'd be a better choice to help me get real clothing."

"You do know we make a habit of hunting vampires," Hannibal smirked.

"That's no excuse to look bad," Cordelia sniffed.

"Welcome to the Night-stalkers," Abby grinned.

End Welcome.


	56. Angel and Al Bester: Buying Hyperion

Author: Lucinda

Rated t for teen just to be safe.

Main characters: Al Bester and Angel

Disclaimer: Angel was created by Joss, Al Bester belongs to the folks who created Babylon 5.

Distribution: Twisting, mental Wanderings, or by request.

Notes: for Twisting's FfA. Long after BtVS, and a bit before B5.

……………

Al Bester frowned at the man across the table. He hated being sent out to deal with the norms, their minds were always so chaotic and tangled. But there was something different about this person, this Angel Darke.

It wasn't just the fact that the man's name was assumed. It wasn't just that the man's documentation had been faked. It wasn't just that the man had no medical records at all, which was supposed to be impossible.

"So you're the latest representative from Psi-Corps," the man's voice was calm, and he had an expression that was almost a smile.

"Yes," Al agreed, wondering just what was so amusing to this man. He had to be a norm, otherwise one of the Psi-Corp chapters would have already recruited him for training. They wouldn't miss out on someone who could manage that much poise, he'd be too good for public relations. "I wanted to talk to you about purchasing a piece of property."

Mr. Darke leaned back, arms folding over his chest as the smile became a smirk. "They didn't give you any sort of briefing, did they?"

Al frowned again, wondering just what was so amusing to this man. He represented Ps-Corps, and he didn't like some norm being amused at his expense. Then again, the man was a norm, why not just find out what was so amusing? He reached for the other man's mind, determined to read his thoughts.

There was nothing there.

Trying not to gape in shock, Al reached again. This time, he used more of his power. He was supposed to be strong, maybe strong enough to be trained as one of he Psi-police, he should be able to read this man's mind with ease. But he still couldn't find anything.

"You can't read me," the man spoke calmly, his smirk growing wider. "No matter how hard you try. I'd suggest you stop before you give yourself a headache."

This time, Al scowled at him instead of just frowning. There was no reason why he should be unable to read this norm.

"One of these days, Psi-Corps might start teaching you little telepaths that it's not polite to try to get into everybody's heads," the man commented, looking amused. "So far, every time they send one of you, it goes the same way. A telepath walks in the door and states that they want to buy my property, sometimes looking smug. When I'm not impressed, you all try to get into my head, and then every single one of you gives yourself a headache when you keep trying."

Al took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. "Why can't I read you?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I tried to explain it, so I won't," the man shook his head. "There are some truths that you… that the world isn't ready to hear."

Al bit back his first comment, which was that this man had no idea what he was and wasn't ready to know. There would always be things he didn't want to know about, such as what some of his instructors looked like naked or just what went into the mystery meat at the cafeteria. In spite of the fact that this man was irritating him, Al had to admit that he might have a point or two to his arguments.

Having mentally counted to a hundred, Al decided to try a slightly different strategy. "Why won't you sell us your property? It seems like a very large building complex for one man, and despite the name, it hasn't been used as a hotel in a very long time."

The man gave a small smile, and countered, "Why do you want to buy it?"

Al Bester gaped at him. "What do you mean? Why should that matter?"

"I don't need the money that Psi-Corps is offering. I don't need to sell," Mr. Darke explained. "So unless someone can give me a good reason to sell the property to them, I'll keep it."

Al's lips moved as he tried to make sense of such a strange way of thinking about the property. He couldn't imagine anyone just ignoring an offer of that much money. "You don't need the money?"

"No. And I have strong memories of the Hotel Hyperion," he folded his hands, elbows on the table. "My memories of the place are worth far more to me than what has been offered."

Al sighed, rubbing at his eye with one gloved hand. "You're making a good deal of sense, Mr. Darke. I'm not used to norms doing that."

"You can call me Angel," the man replied.

After a few moments of looking intently at Al, Angel continued, "Something that you and probably the rest of Psi-Corps needs to realize and remember is that you're still human. You have the same weaknesses and needs as the rest of humanity."

Raising one eyebrow, Al folded his arms across his chest. "We are different. We read minds, Mr… Angel."

"You still think, hope, and plan. You still eat the same foods, breathe the same air," the man paused and his expression took on an unreadable cast. "You still bleed just the same as someone who isn't a telepath."

Al stood up, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling at those words. This man, Angel… he wasn't just calm and wealthy. There was something about him that was dangerous. The man wasn't going to sell the property, he might as well get away while he still could… err, just leave. "I'll keep that in mind."

"If you ever have a better reason why I should sell the Hyperion, I'd be willing to talk to you again, Mr. Bester. You'll know how to contact me."

Al Bester left the building, unable to explain why he felt safer with a door between himself and Angel Darke. He also didn't know why the sunshine felt so good when only a half hour earlier he'd been thinking it was too bright.

End FfA – Angel & Al Bester.


	57. Rupert Giles and Micheal: Lost Boy

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13?

main characters: Rupert Giles, Michael (Lost Boys)

disclaimer: you know they aren't mine.

distribution: Twisting & Mental Wanderings

notes: Twisting's FfA pairing # 631.

"Mr. Giles?" The voice was a bit hesitant, a young man who was unmistakably American.

"I am Rupert Giles. Was there something..." His memory nagged at him, and then he recalled Anya mentioning making him an appointment to talk to some man about something or other that she didn't ask about. The odds were high that this would be that man. "Are you Michael Emerson?"

"Yeah." He ran his hand through long dark hair, and stepped inside the shop. He wore dark clothing, and an earring dangled, half hidden by his hair. He had that half rebellious air of attempted danger that was always popular among unhappy young men. As Michael pulled off his sunglasses, he wondered if maybe it was a good thing that Buffy was elsewhere for the weekend?

"I'm afraid that Anya neglected to tell me what you wanted to speak about. Would you prefer the back room, for a bit more privacy?" He offered, wanting to be courteous.

"The back room." There was no hesitation, in fact, the young man looked rather relieved at the chance to talk in greater privacy.

He didn't say anything else of importance until they were settled in the back, at the solid table normally used for the research sessions. "I... Some people that I know tell me that you're an expert on vampires. Not vampire movies or books, but the real ones."

"Yes, I suppose that I am." Rupert sighed, and stood up, moving towards his teapot. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Michael shook his head in polite refusal, and murmured, "I know it sounds crazy, but I need to talk to you about that. About... side effects."

"Perhaps you should start at the beginning?" He sipped at his tea, feeling confident that if he didn't have an answer, it should be in one of his books. "There are a rather large number of things that involve vampires."

"They... They tried to make me into a vampire. A killer." He shuddered, and his hands clenched into fists. "We thought.. we killed the head vampire in the area, and we thought that would be it, that we would be normal again. And we really believed that."

"Obviously, they didn't drain your blood until your heartbeat faltered, feed you their own blood, let you die and wait for you to rise again." Giles sat a bit straighter. It sounded like the vampires that Michael had encountered were a bit different than the usual Sunnydale rabble, and that could be most interesting. "My sources have mentioned several other, less frequently used strategies, which did the vampires employ in... Pardon, where did this occur?"

"Santa Carla." He whispered, and his eyes looked haunted. "They said it was wine, and... It started changing me. Starr said it made me half, like she was. If I'd killed anyone, if I'd given in..."

"Ah." He set the cup down, and went to a shelf, pulling out one of the older volumes, bound in dark red leather. "I think it was in here... Certain bloodlines were known for using that strategy in the Middle Ages, as it gave them a larger number of minions while costing them less blood. Efficiency, as it were. Most didn't do that, because it's more difficult for them to effectively control and teach the individuals."

"It freaked me out. I... I woke up on the ceiling." Michael looked at him, and whispered, "I'm having dreams about them. Like they're outside, whispering to me. And the sunlight's starting to burn more. Like it did then."

"Hmmm." Giles flipped though the volume, considering the possibilities. "I assume that you haven't drank anything that could have been used to conceal blood. Are you absolutely certain that the vampires were killed? All of them?"

"Yeah. All of them... Melted in the tub of holy water, burned at the stereo, staked in the cave, antelope horns, and the fireplace." He counted off fingers.

"Antelope horns?" He almost dropped the book, spinning to glare at the young man. "Antelope horns by themselves might not be completely fatal. Was there a body?"

"David... yeah. We buried him near the bluff. But Max was their leader." Michael looked worried, and rubbed at his arms. "Max died, and we felt human again. It should have been over."

"Whose blood was in the wine bottle?" He ground the words out carefully, reminding himself that if the young man had been an expert in vampires, he wouldn't be here asking questions.

"David's." The name was a half frightened whisper.

"And it was David who you buried? The one with an intact body?" Rupert pressed, his mind skipping ahead, trying to dredge up everything he could about vampires healing from injuries from bone or horn. Both were as debilitating as wood, but if they hadn't precisely skewered the heart... "You should have burned the body, just to be certain."

Michael just nodded, looking stricken.

"Damn." Rupert sat back down, and gulped a swallow of hot tea. "Well then, he's probably healed from the antelope horns, and returned to awareness. That return would cause a reaction, and you can feel him. It's a weaker form of the Sire-Child bond."

"Am I going to change again?" The words were slow, dragged out through fear and dismay. "Will Starr?"

"My sources..." He scanned the text, scowling. "I don't know. In Medieval times, suspected vampire bodies were always burned, just to make certain. That would prevent any healing sleeps and later returns. There are very few cases of people who had been partially turned after the death of their... err... near-sires, and many of them either went mad or went into seclusion."

"What can I do?" Michael moaned.

"Don't sit there despairing, but do something about it. Either make preparations to hunt David down again, or take steps to ensure that you will not become a menace. Perhaps you should make certain that you are ready to fight?"

"Can you teach me? We... we were terrible at it before. We managed, but mostly through dumb luck, and I don't want to count on that." Michael asked, his eyes desperate.

Rupert sighed, rubbing at his temples. This could only lead to trouble, he knew it. "Fine, you can stay. We'll teach you how to hunt vampires, and try to help you keep from becoming one."

"Thank you." The handshake was a bit too tight, a bit too frantic.

Pessimism told Rupert that he'd just found Buffy's rebound from Angel's departure. At least this one had a pulse. For now. Damn.

end Lost Boy.


	58. Buffy & Micheal: Lost Boy 2

Author: Lucinda

rating: pg? pg13?

main characters: Buffy Summers, Micheal

disclaimers: Buffy was created by Joss, Micheal belongs to the creators of Lost Boys

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, anybody with 'Lost Boy', by permission.

notes: TtH FfA pairing # 629. Sequel to 'Lost Boy', also written for the FfA. Set at the start of an AU s4 BtVS, post Lost Boys the movie.

Buffy tugged her hair out of her eyes as she walked towards the Magic Box. College was a lot harder than High School had been, and the classes kept getting tougher as the year progressed. Now, not only did she have to write a five page paper for Psych, she had three pages of math and some stupid readings for Literature, and she was still Slaying. The only bright side seemed to be that Parker, this sort of cute upper classman had been flirting with her some. He was sort of handsome, and he'd seemed like he understood everything...

But instead of hanging around to see if Parker was just as interesting today, she had to go talk to Giles and find out if there was anything to look for on patrol before going out and fighting vampires, again. Some things never changed. Except that she'd be hunting vampires alone. Willow had Oz, and Xander had his... thing with Anya, and Angel was gone. She was alone, and it sucked. Some days, she really wished that she could have someone, though they'd all learned not to actually say such things out loud – you never knew who or what might be listening.

Buffy let herself into the Magic Box, thinking again that it really had been smart of Giles to get a shop to use as their base, and tried to paste a smile on her face. Giles didn't need to know how much she missed Angel. He didn't need to know how lonely she'd been feeling. Her near smile faltered when she found Giles in deep discussion with a guy. He looked a few years older than she was, though not quite Wesley's age. Shoulder length dark hair, torn jeans... He looked cute and a little on the bad-boy side of things. And did he have an earring?

Wait a minute, she shook her head. So what if he was cute or had a really nice backside? What was he even doing here? "Hey, Giles. I didn't know that you were expecting company."

Giles sighed, and picked up his tea, sipping at it slowly. After a moment, he spoke. "Buffy, this is Micheal. He's come to... well, I suppose you'd have to say he's come to consult with me. He needed to talk to an expert on vampires."

"Vampires?" Buffy blinked, and looked again at the cute guy. "I thought we were all about the non-sharing thing?"

"Once again, your treatment of the English language appalls me." Giles muttered, and shook his head. "Micheal's hometown is, unfortunately, also the hometown of a family of rather devious vampires. It was his concern that a lack of proper expertise on vampires could endanger them and lead to either himself or some of his associates ending up rather dead. Possibly with fangs."

Micheal shook his head, smiling slightly. "All that without actually saying the problem."

Holding one hand towards her, he smiled. "I'm Micheal. He said that between the two of you, I could learn the right way to fight vampires. Without ending up dead myself. Of course, he also mentioned that the big three were impalement through the heart, beheading, and fire."

Taking his hand, Buffy smiled back, no longer needing to pretend. Micheal knew about vampires already... Maybe they could get together, swap stories? "It'll be nice to have someone to patrol with me. I've even got a spare crossbow that you can use."

"A spare crossbow, huh?" He gave a small shrug, and grinned at her. "If that's the place to start. It sounds a lot better than fighting hand to hand."

"The hand to hand part comes later." She ignored the way her stomach fluttered at his smile, or the little shiver that his touch sent up her back. After all, he was cute, that had to be it. Right? Because Giles was so not going to be inviting vampires into the shop to have long chats and tea with. She wondered if he had a girlfriend. "I mean, against the vampires."

"Sure." He glanced around, and the grin faltered. "So, a crossbow? And then what, on to looking for vampires?"

"Yeah, just a regular cemetery patrol to catch the newbies as they rise." Buffy commented, dragging up the second crossbow and a batch of the bolts that it used. "Through the heart to kill them, anywhere else hurts but isn't fatal. But if you can get the knees, they fall down."

"The knees… I'll have to remember that. And I already know that garlic doesn't work." The little twitch at his jaw hinted that there was a story behind that, but he didn't elaborate. "Any other good advice for me?"

"Holy water is good, and you never, ever want to be without a real weapon." Buffy shuddered, remembering one ugly encounter back in LA. "In a really desperate situation, Exacto knives work for decapitation, but it's really messy and takes a long time. If you can find one, a number two pencil through the heart is faster and a lot easier to clean up."

"An Exacto knife?" He shook his head and chuckled. "Well, at least those aren't too bad to replace. Sam ended up shooting a vamp and he fell back into the stereo system… I don't know if he got the heart or electrocution works as well as fire, but the vampire burned up, and the stereo was just as dead. Mom had a fit about that one."

"Death by stereo? That's just too funny." Buffy decided that it was a really nice thing that Micheal had come to Sunnydale. She didn't even think about parker, and only occasionally about Angel as they walked into the cemetery.

end Who's the Guy?


	59. Doyle and Snape: Dark Words

Author: Lucinda

rated y-14, just to be safe.

Third in the Professor Doyle series.

main characters: Allen Francis Doyle, Severus Snape

disclaimer: Doyle is the creation of Joss Whedon for Angel: the Series, Severus belongs to JK Rowling from her Harry Potter novels. Any mention of people, places or situations from those sources is also not my property.

distribution: anyone with permission for one of my other BtVS/Harry Potter crossovers has permission.

notes:. Post 'Hero' in s1 AtS, AU post GoF for HP. Follows 'Vote of Confidence'

"An American. One without proper credentials from any of the major American wizarding schools, without certification from the British ministry, and without a well-known pureblood name," the voice slid through the shadows in advance of the dark wizard.

"You must be Severus Snape, the Potions Master," Doyle glanced at the wizard.

He'd heard quite a few things about this man, though he'd been away on 'important business' during the summer. Albus had only said that he was the Potions Professor, and a Master of his craft. Minerva had said that Severus had been the youngest member of the faculty, until the decision to hire Doyle had been made. And that he was somewhat prickly in nature, rather like a thistle in some regards. Sibyl Trelawney, Professor of Divination and the most overly-theatrical woman he'd ever had the experience of meeting had muttered things about snakes and ill-omens. Thia Vector had explained a small portion of that, clearing up that the 'snake' portions meant that Severus was the head of the Slytherin house, and there were rumors that he'd been a Death Eater.

He'd had a very long night with the history books researching Death Eaters and 'You-Know-Who.' It turned out that everybody had been terrified of the leader of a group of dark and evil wizards and witches, calling his followers Death Eaters, and the head evil wizard himself, this 'Lord Voldemort' was called the Dar Lord or You-Know-Who. Parts of the whole mess seemed absurd and other parts down right terrifying.

"I can't help but wonder what fit of insanity has possessed Albus this time," the voice whispered of darkness and lethal secrets, and the man looked perfectly suited for every one of the rumors that suggested he'd poisoned his rivals.

"You wouldn't be the only one," Doyle tilted his head as he considered the other man. How much of his prickliness was a reaction to the way his youth would be viewed? How much of it was a defense, and how much the first means of attack of someone who obviously have few friends in his youth, if any at all? "I've already had to assure one of the students that was brought in early that I'm not the new Defense Professor. It sounds like a most unlucky position, and they couldn't talk me into that one. Not without a good deal more than tea, lemon drops, and some bother about dark times, grave peril, and bit of trouble filling the post."

"Oh?" one dark brow rose. "You are the only new Professor that I've been informed of, and the Defense position does open with dismal regularity."

"History of Magic. Professor Binns has moved on to a long delayed afterlife away from the living. While I'm not sure who will be the new Defense Professor, I do know that it won't be myself," Doyle offered a smile to the other man, hoping that the next youngest member of the faculty wouldn't be an enemy.

For a few moments, Severus Snape studied Doyle with a calm that revealed nothing of his thoughts. The words wiggled out of lips that seemed unwilling to move, "I suppose that it was time for Binns to be replaced."

"From what the others have said, the fact that I didn't go to school here will leave some uncertain how to react to me. Not only were none of them my teachers when I was a wee lad, they can't be certain what I do or don't know already," Doyle let himself smile, remembering that the Slytherins were supposed to be ambitious, sometimes ruthlessly so. There had also been a few mutterings about blood and 'proper wizarding heritage' that hadn't made much sense. Doyle was operating under the assumption that if he didn't know what 'proper wizarding heritage' was, then he probably didn't have the right heritage.

"Gryffindors do tend to charge in where Ravenclaws will hold back and study the situation until they are forced to act. A Hufflepuff will let their ties to each other drag them into folly, and a Slytherin will consider their own likely benefits," The expression on Severus's face wouldn't have been called a smile for most people.

"I'd be interested in hearing your advice and opinions about the rest of the faculty, and about some of the students, if you'd be willing to share," Doyle asked. He remembered that it had always pleased the faculty at the school he'd been at before to be able to give advice to the new people. Magical or not, British or not, he would bet that the same would hold true here at Hogwarts.

"That might take some time," there was a pause, and then those dark eyes focused on him. "What have you been told about Harry Potter?"

"Not very much," Doyle replied, feeling cautious. Just how much interest did the faculty have for the boy, and how much of it would be helpful? "Minerva said that he was one of hers, which I took to mean a Griffyndor. I think he was going to be in his fifth year, and he sounds like he has a positive curse for being in the thick of trouble. Rolanda says he's brilliant on a broom, and went into a long talk about Quidditch games. Professor Sprout said he works hard in her class, but doesn't talk much, and Filius said his charms work is an oddly mixed bag."

"And your opinion on the boy?" There was a definite edge to those words that robbed the question of the innocence of the words.

Doyle forced himself to shrug as if he hadn't caught the tension in the question. "Quidditch is a sport, and there's very few who can make a living at that once they're done with school. He could probably benefit from spending more time on his homework than his broomstick, and if the Powers That Be are kind, he'll stay out of trouble this year."

"While I do not presume myself an expert on the Powers you mentioned, or on Potters, I would not advise that you hold your breath in expectation of such a thing," there were dark undertones to the words.

Doyle couldn't quite keep from shivering at those words. It wasn't quite a vision, but the feeling that passed though him was close enough that he wanted a headache potion or a shot of fire whiskey. "I don't intend to do such a thing. The Powers are not often kind enough that someone with that sort of curse would have a peaceful year."

"Dark times have returned, and I wouldn't count on any of us having a peaceful year," Severus spoke again, his words edging into the shadows.

"No offense intended, Professor Snape, but I hope that you're wrong," Doyle let his eyes rest in a patch of shadow. "A year with no disaster…"

"We could not be so fortunate," bitterness choked the words from the Potions Master.

Doyle didn't want to give voice to the words, but Professor Snape was right. He could feel it in his bones. This would be a year with danger. Danger for all of them.

End Professor Doyle 3: Dark Words.


	60. Dru and Divia: Where's Your Daddy?

author: Lucinda

rated t for teen, content may include strong language, violence, and insanity.

main characters: Drusilla, Divia

disclaimer: Drusilla belongs to Joss Whedon & his writing staff, Divia belongs to the writing staff for Forever Knight, and while I'm not certain of their names, mine isn't on the list.

distribution: Twisting, Mental Wanderings, or ask.

notes: after s4 BtVS, after Divia's relase for FK.

..BtVS..FK..BtVS..FK..BtVS..FK..

"Why do they all leave me?" Drusilla whispered to Miss Edith. The stars hadn't given her an answer, perhaps her oldest friend could end the mystery.

She frowned at the response that Miss Edith gave her. "What do you mean, I needn't worry about them right now?"

"Who are they?"

Drusilla looked up, puzzled at the voice and the way the stars had started whispering and giggling about the new arrival. Why hadn't she heard the girl's footsteps, or her heartbeat as she came closer?

"My Mummy, and Daddy, and Grandmummy, and my dark Daddy, and then my little birds, and my Angel Daddy, and now my Spike," Dru sighed as she remembered all of them. Her pretty little birds that Spike and Daddy had brought her in London, with their big, frightened eyes and their tattered dresses. The way they'd screamed and whimpered and then just faded away.

The strange girl had golden curls and pale eyes that glittered like the stars. Instead of a pretty dress, she wore dark leather and fabric, and big heavy boots that reminded Dru of Spike's. The girl child looked pretty, and delicate, and rebellious. Exactly the sort that she and Spike had gobbled up a hundred times... But this girl wasn't the same as the others. Her heart was still and silent in her chest, and the stars whispered furiously about her, their voices overlapping too much for Dru to make out their meaning.

"Three daddies?" one pale brow lifted and the girl smirked, "That sounds against several laws of mortals. I like it."

"Oh, my dark daddy turned into my Angel-daddy when he made the nasty gypsies angry, so they were almost the same. But he didn't want to play the sweet games anymore," For a moment, Drusilla let herself remember the games of pain and pleasure that she had played with her sire. "But he doesn't want me anymore."

"Mine never wanted to play those games to begin with," the strange girl moved closer, settling herself on the edge of a picnic table. "He was too caught up in stupid mortal rules."

"Why? Mortals are so fragile, as easily as they break, why should their rules be any stronger?" Dru tilted her head, and finally sorted out a few fragments of the stars' whispers. "Your name is Divia?"

"How did you know that?" The girl moved faster than Drusilla's eyes could follow, and one cool hand held her arm in a grip stronger than steel. "How did you know who I am?"

"The stars are whispering about you. Not to me, but to each other," Dru giggled, and leaned closer to the girl before confiding, "I think the stars are arguing."

"You're crazy," the girl pushed Dru back, pulling her hand away immediately, "As demented as a maenad."

"Your daddy is your darling boy, and he wouldn't play with you…" Dru spun in a circle, enjoying the feeling of her skirt twirling up, flaring out and then falling back to brush her legs, slithering down to tickle her ankles. "He was afraid of the smoke and stone, but then he was afraid of forever… And he wouldn't listen when you became his mummy."

"You hardly sound like your situation is any better," Divia hissed, her teeth becoming sharper.

"Ohhh," Dru held her arms wide, tilting her head back to listen to the stars. "What naughty things they whisper!"

"Who did you eat tonight?" the girl shook her head, and took a step backwards.

"He slipped through your fingers before because you are one and he is one and that counters out, like salt and sugar. One can't hold one that easily," Dru waggled her finger at the older and yet younger girl. "But two can hold one."

"What?" Divia tilted her head, and frowned. "Talk sense or I'll rip out your tongue."

"Two. One to keep his attention and one to grab him from behind. Then you can make him play, and he'll come to like the games. They always do," Drusilla hummed along with the song of the stars, and giggled. "Do you want to start with your Daddy or mine?"

Divia blinked twice, and slowly started to smile. "You may have a good idea there, my little maenad. Why don't we start with yours, and once we know that your insane little plan works, he can help us get mine."

"We can be a splendid family together," Dru smiled, and clapped her hands. "It shall be glorious, and the streets shall run red with the blood of anyone who tries to take our daddies away!"

"I think I like this plan," Divia reached out, catching Drusilla's arm. "Now, lead the way towards your Daddy…"

End FfA: Where's Your Daddy?


	61. Faith and Vader: Lack of Faith

Author: Lucinda

Rated t for teen

Disclaimer: anyone you recognize does not belong to me, though I may not be able to give all the legal who's that do own them. Lt. Caldis and Admiral Meelchad are mine.

Distribution: by permission.

Notes: A product of my twisted mind, AU post BtVS s3.

Lt. Caldis shivered, remembering that meeting in room seven. The only reason that he had been present at all was that he was one of the personal assistants to Admiral Meelchad. He'd been terrified to see that the meeting had included Lord Vader, favored of Emperor Palpatine. He'd heard dozens of rumors of what Vader did for the Emperor, and considering what he'd seen… Personal assassin sounded a good deal more likely.

'I find your lack of faith disturbing.' With those simple words, Vader had gestured, somehow choking one of the more prominent and less quiet members of the Admiral's staff.

"He could have killed him easily," Caldis whispered.

"That's correct, Caldis," Admiral Meelchad snapped, pacing along the wall. Every so often, the Admiral would glance at the chip that held the minutes of the earlier session, complete with Lord Vader's act of irritation. "Had he been angry instead of merely… what was the word he used again?"

"Disturbed, sir. He said," Caldis cleared his throat, attempting to match Vader's deep tones, "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"Lord Vader knows full well that very few give any credence to the outdated notions and tenets of the Jedi!" Admiral Meelchad snapped. "How can he expect the rest of us to bow to such whims and silly notions?"

"Perhaps… sir, does…" Caldis closed his eyes and took a breath. His idea was silly enough without stammering. "Perhaps Lord Vader needs something else to occupy his time. Not the tenets of the Jedi, but… What about a different sort of faith?"

"What do you mean?" the Admiral's expression suggested that if this idea was absurd, he would have one less assistant.

"When I was young, my family lived next to some traders from the rim. Their children were named Courage, Endurance, Hope and Charity. What if we find him a woman named Faith?" Caldis suggested.

"Your suggestion is…" Admiral Meelchad paused, tapping his chin as he considered the idea. "Audacious. Risky, but audacious. Provided that we can find someone suitably interesting, with no questionable loyalties… It just may prove useful. At the very least, having a malleable female at his disposal should lighten Lord Vader's mood."

"Sir," Caldis permitted himself a tiny smile. "Shall I begin a search for a suitable female?"

"One who would not be missed," the Admiral agreed. "You are excused from your other duties in favor of this plan for the next three weeks."

Caldis began by searching the database available on the Imperial Star Destroyer Malevolence. He wanted a human or mostly human female who had reached adulthood but not yet middle age for whatever her genetic background offered. Someone reasonably healthy with few relatives inclined or capable of searching for her. After all, Lord Vader was very hard on his admirals, how much worse could he be on a simple diversion? If a woman fit those requirements, he would then look at a picture, dismissing any who were not reasonably attractive. And her name had to be or mean faith.

It took eleven days before he had a short list of options. A double handful of names and location for females of suitable age, relatively good health, and reasonably pretty. After a few moments thought, he sent an order for a group of Stormtoopers to go to the nearby planet that held one of the candidates, a homeless woman currently held in suspended animation.

"Please let this work. If it doesn't, Admiral Meelchad will kill me. If Lord Vader doesn't do it himself…"

The Stormtroopers returned, with the woman identified only as 'Faith' and a dozen other young women whose acquisition would muddle things enough that nobody should guess his interest was only in 'Faith'. He gave orders that the medics would give all the women thorough physicals and begin the revival processes.

Faith had a number of interesting marks, including a pair of tattoos and several vicious looking scars. She was of average height, a bit muscular, and her brown hair should curl provocatively around her shoulders.

She was placed in a small room, given a gauzy set of robes to wear, and left to wake up. Five Stormtroopers were left as guards, to make certain that she didn't wander away and that nobody else decided to play with her.

"Sir, why is this woman under guard?" one of the troopers asked, his white helmet leaving him identical to the others.

"She is to be a gift to Lord Vader," Caldis replied, glancing at the door. "The hope was that she would help him to be less irritable."

Everything went according to plans and decrees for the next few hours. The ship moved serenely through space, the computers functioned properly, meals were cooked and garbage disposed of in the normal manner, though the grilled nerf burgers were a bit scorched, and the naraj juice a bit too tart.

Caldis wasn't surprised that Admiral Meelchad had decided to claim the idea as his own, and tried to hide his irritation as a small procession swept through the halls towards the room where he'd stashed the woman. Admiral Meelchad and Lord Vader were in the lead, followed by two soldiers guarding Admiral Meelchad and Caldis trailed along behind. A small corner of his mind followed the nervous mutterings of Admiral Meelchad; another part considered the many ways that this could lead to pain and death.

He hadn't expected to see a Stormtrooper sail through the hall, crunching against the wall.

"I said don't touch me!" the shout was undeniably a woman's. Another crunching noise followed.

A second Stormtrooper stumbled out of the room, his armor missing a shoulder guard and his helmet crooked. Faith stood there, glaring at him. She then expanded her glare to include all of them.

"Did you not claim that she was an attractive and malleable female, Admiral Meelchad?" Lord Vader's voice seemed almost calm.

"Ahh…." On finger tugged at his collar, and the Admiral glanced at the woman.

The red gauze looked splendid against her fair skin, and her hair surrounded her shoulders quite fetchingly, Caldis decided. The strange band she had tattooed on her arm was a bit unusual, but she did look quite lovely. Also very intimidating if she could push a Stormtrooper around.

"Who are you, and where am I?" the woman demanded, eyes flickering from Admiral Meelchad to Lord Vader and back again. After a fw rounds of that, she seemed to notice Caldis, and demanded, "You in the back, where am I?"

Feeling increasingly nervous, Caldis spoke, hoping that his voice would stay level. "You are in a guest room aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Malevolence. We entered the Corellia system earlier today."

The woman blinked, one hand reaching up to her temple, "Whoa, I must have hit my head a lot harder than I thought. Why am I here?"

"You are to accompany Lord Vader, and to do as he chooses," Admiral Meelchad declared, his thin nose lifting a bit.

"No way," her arms folded over her chest, and she glared at the Admiral. "The costumes are really good, but you can't expect me to believe that this is really a Star Destroyer and that he's really Darth Vader."

"You have no idea what danger your impertinence places you in, woman!" one of the stormtroopers snapped, raising his blaster.

Caldis couldn't even see the woman move. He blinked and she had crossed the distance, the blaster was on the floor, and her hand on the Stormtrooper's neck, his feet dangling in the air.

"I'm not the only one in danger here," she growled.

"You did express dismay at the lack of Faith, Lord Vader," Caldis managed to keep the trembling out of his voice. "It is my… our sincere hope that we have corrected that failing. This woman is Faith."

There was a sound that Caldis didn't recognize. From someone else, he would have called it a chuckle. But Lord Vader didn't chuckle, didn't even know how… did he?

"You may leave us. I believe that I have things to discuss with Faith."

Vader's voice chilled Caldis, and all he could do was bow and retreat. This plan seemed to be a success, he was just having second thoughts about it's wisdom in the first place.

"What have I done?" he whispered.

End Lack of Faith.


End file.
